It seems unbelievable to me that just a few months ago I was being buried under an avalanche of eggs. The girls were going full throttle, and at their most productive I was getting close to forty eggs a week. My egg basket was over flowing, and I resorted to giving boxes away to anyone who knocked on the door (the British Gas salesman looked quite bewildered). Now, I look at the two lonely eggs lurking in the bottom of said egg basket and think: I won't be able to make a cake until March.
To be fair to the flock, the two newbies are not yet in lay. Mabel, Maude and Doris are in moult, and Maeve is about to go in to it. The partridge pair are both welded to the nest, more interested in incubating phantom eggs than laying any. Still, I can't help but feel a bit hard done by. Last year I had a few eggs a week well in to November. We appear to have shut up shop early this year.
Aside from two softies (I suspect Mabel), I've had no nest box bounty for a fortnight. For the first time this year I might have to resort to buying eggs from the supermarket. Perhaps if I wave the box about near the hens they'll be shamed in to getting back to work. However, as they are currently spark out on the patio catching the last of the years sunshine, I highly doubt it.
Apparently, they're all taking a holiday.