Dickens' Chickens and the Great Escape.

*an escape tunnel?

As the weather has warmed up the egg laying committee seems to be forming itself into a Dickensesque criminal gang. They seem to be taking on the persona of a stereotypical Victorian underclass. I must say, they have gone about the garden in a most efficient way. Turning a lush, verdant jungle of naturalism into the slums of a the criminal underbelly.
They have successfully prevented any regrowth of grass and the ducks have enjoyed making the garden path into a thick swamp. Perhaps if you listen carefully at night you can hear the cries of Able Magwich? Struggling in the mire of the once, clean and functional garden path.
In good time shovels and brushes will be deployed, and it will be restored to it's former glory. Then it will be covered in fetching pea shingle. Just right for bare tootsies. But, for now, the gang can enjoy the haven of scratchability they have bestowed upon the grounds for just a little longer.
Due to this lack of green stuff they have spent a week or so gazing through the fence with desire dripping from every feather. Next-door's unsullied lawn taunting them with it's fresh growth. Clearly, the cabbage, sprouts, lettuce, broccoli, and other sundry good they are presented with is unacceptable. They will deign to present us with regular eggs but we do not, at any point, feel the look of longing is for the benefit of anything other than our own guilt. Surely if they look at it long enough we will put in a small chicken sized gate to allow them access to such superior pasture?
Well, they have given up waiting! Late at night they gathered around the brazier outside the egloo. Warming their wings and listening intently to the master plan.
Pecky has assumed the roll of Fagin. She is, and always will be the leader of this motley crew. Commanding her minions to do her bidding. Egging on Poppy to mob DD as he kindly takes their feed down to the feeding station. Taking advantage of Poppy's placid nature. Clearly the Nancy of Pecky's rabble of Molls. She is a sweet bird, never any trouble and always clean and tidy. She never seems to get into any scrapes and shares her food with the smaller girls.
"They willl never expect you to come flying onto the bowl and scatter the grain far and wide while they are carrying it. Then they are silly enough to refill them! Two meals for the price of one!"
Violet and Rosie are being instructed in the ways of the street urchin.
"Look cute girls! You know the silly male food provider cannot resit letting you hitch a ride upon his shoulder. Make sure you come running to his feet in an endearing way. Fluff your feathers and take on the cuddleablitiy of a loved and cherished bear. Then, when you have gained his confidence, check his pockets! There may be tasty treats within. Utilise the shoulder ride. I feel sure one of these days you will find grain in his ears. Be thorough!. Rest assure, he is soft hearted and will think it is a friendly nuzzle" 
Then there are Snowbell and Gwynn. The hardened ladies of the night. Selling their favours to any passing crow, for the right price. Tail feathers in the air and a confident swagger.
 I am sure that they are saying "'ere lovey, Fancy a good time? Just one fist of grain will take you halfway to heaven" I wonder if I check their privet hidy hole I will find the tools of their trade? lipstick, perfume and white stilettos?
Of course there is Darcy to contend with. Ever on the scene, "protecting" his girls. Come too close or ruffle a few feathers and he will fix you with his steely eye.
"One false move, mister and I'll cut ya!" He has attempted to enlist Georgie Pup as "Bullseye" but she just doesn't cut the mustard as the ferocious hound.
Enter the Ducks, stage left. Our ever present, ever pious missionaries. Sent into to slums to "improve the souls" of the underbelly and low lives.
They have little interest in the Garden of Eden next-door. As if they know it can only lead one astray and into the path of evil. They try to show the chickens the error of their ways. They are clearly leading by example. Splashing in the puddles and making mud pies is a far more wholesome activity. "My dears, look not to greener pastures. Have joy in the mud the lord has provide."
Yesterday saw The Plan come to fruition. They Have dug their tunnel and found a path to Eden. You could observe them scratching at the lawn and shuffling their feel. Distributing the soil dug from the tunnel about the garden. The Human Beans will never suspect a thing.

Then came the knock at the door. "Your Cockerel is in the garden"

So, I hotfooted it into the garden next door to retrieve Darcy.  Imagine my inner smirk at the "towny" as I chased down Gwynn. I feel certain being thought of as a lad will do her trade no good. What self respecting crow would want a dalliance with a transsexual chicken?
We played around and around the garden for a good few minutes until she decided her home turf was the place to be. Silly bird. I now observed the escape tunnel and went about blocking it up. Grasping her firmly I lobbed her back over the fence. She shook herself off and all too soon returned to Eden. This time taking Poppy, Darcy and Snowbell with her.
This time it was Teenbeast and DD who did the honours. I had been excused due to a booking of Taxi of Mum. 
Upon my return from Boglin's horse riding lesson I asked DD why he had so many scratches. Through gritted teeth he said "they got out again"
The breech is now blocked sufficiently by DD and all secret alternative routes have been hunted down and blocked.
The one joy in all this was the donating of the two eggs laid in Eden. Happy neighbours. I only hope the next eggs the consume from the committee comes via a glut not an adventure.
* not one of our birds, but this photo struck a chord.