A year ago, Daddy purchased a flock of teenage hens, and one egotistical rooster. Feeding the chickens became our daily date, each afternoon. Eventually, the first egg appeared in the vintage nest box hung on the interior barn wall. In short order more, and then up to 18 eggs every day.
Later that summer, one young hen began vocalizing the distinctive "clookclook" language, indicating she was feeling broody. Ready to "set," as Grandma always called it. Daddy waved away the idea. "Too much work," he said. But Hen-rietta was persistent. Every day for three months, either Daddy or I hauled her off her nest and retrieved the eggs she preferred to remain planted upon. She was not impressed or appreciative and the sound effects were deafening.
When Hen-rietta finally admitted defeat and rejoined fowl society, it was not welcoming. She had begun to molt, and her bare skin offered no protection from her sharp-beaked neighbors. She retreated to the nest box again, her place of safety. The only time she ventured out to attend to her own needs was when the flock was let out to scratch and peck in the meadow.
Out of sympathy for her plight, I walled off a section of the pen with wire found in the upper barn. Hen-rietta now had her own apartment, but a clear view of her neighbors and they of her. Terrified at first, she, gradually regained both feathers and confidence, which put her neighbors on notice. Hen-rietta grew out a new set of fluffy underwear topped by lovely rust feathers with a unique design above her tail section. All was well again, mostly.
Spring arrived, and a few of the hens busied themselves with cleaning out their closets, so to speak, and dropping old feathers along the way. One was Harriet, though her timing was a bit off. She began "clookclooking" around the barn, then parked herself in a nest box with an "I shall not be moved" air. Here we go again.
Two weeks in, an echoing "clookclook" was heard. Oh no, not again. Hen-rietta?! We've just been through this! Daily, I uprooted both stubborn hens, who were quite willing to make their point with a sharp beak employed at lightning speed.
Tuesday evening was mild. I let the hens and their crowing companion onto the newly mown meadow for scratch-and-peck time. Hen-rietta and Harriet maintained their determined vigil in empty nest boxes.
I gave up. From the upper barn, a wire cage was found, modified by Daddy in the past to have two small apartments, with a doorway in the center wall. The wire had a tight enough mesh to contain peeps. It was placed in the chicken barn. Further exploration into Daddy's stash produced two water dishes, and a long feeder suitable for peeps that fitted in the doorway between the apartments. Their mothers could use it in the interim. But what about nests? Plenty of wood shavings and straw, but the eggs would roll about.
A second rummage through the upper barn's bin uncovered two discards from Mama's long ago kitchen. An 8 x 8 square cake pan, and a handle-less round skillet of similar size to the cake pan. One was placed in each apartment, softened with wood shavings, and they became home to 5 eggs each.
Then each wanna-be hen mama was introduced to her new abode. They did not take it kindly, escaping quickly back to their nest boxes, completely oblivious to the fact that the boxes were empty but their new kitchen cast-offs were not. I replaced them quickly, shut the door and let them be.
Next day, a visit showed instinct had regained the upper hand. Each hen had claimed her nest, one in the skillet, one in the cake pan. Upon describing the scene to my sister, I received this response:
"Umm, isn't it customary to remove the hen BEFORE putting eggs in the skillet?"
Well, yes, and we generally add flour and sugar and such like rather than a chicken, when eggs go in a cake pan.
But any port in a storm, and this storm seems to be over. Except when I turn up to feed, or a fowl friend pauses by the wire for innocent conversation. Then the sound effects are quite inhospitable.
One week in. Two weeks to go, before the next housing crisis hits. Oh me, what have I done??
