Great excitement here today, as little Maeve joined the egg laying flock. A small, but perfectly formed, light brown egg greeted my eldest son when he went to check the nest box. As Maeve was the only girl hovering about the run, and the egg was still warm, we put two and two together.
Warily, I approached the unpredictable black chicken to congratulate her. She watched me approach with her head cocked to one side. Tentatively, I reached out my hand to stroke her. I was delighted when she not only allowed the fuss, but actively pushed against my hand. This time last week, she'd have attempted to remove my finger nails one by one had I had the brass neck to try and touch her in any way. It looks like her hormonal psychosis might be at an end!
The others muttered together in a cluster, obviously gossiping about this new development. As Maeve approached, they all eyed each other with a new found wariness. Our baby chook is all grown up, and I think that the pecking order is going to be turned on its head.
If chickens wore clothes, Maeve would be wearing a leather jacket with the collar turned up, and if chickens had lips, there'd be a cigarette dangling from hers. Our young rebel chicken has come of age.