After all the nervous anticipation, Diesel is the only surviving chick from the clutch of eighteen eggs laid under the oil tank. Three more hatched and perished but alas nothing came of the remainder. Diesel is now a curious mix of fluff and feather, keeping close to mum’s side as it learns to forage and peck.
Comical as he/she(?) is however, I had been hoping to enjoy a whole family of downy offspring bobbing about the garden.
I googled “hatching eggs” and it threw up a tantalising menu.
Silver Spangled Hamburg,
French Black Copper Maran,
Black Red Auracana...
Trying not to have eyes bigger than my stomach I settled on fourteen eggs.
Some I collected locally and the other half dozen arrived the next day in the post.