Mystery Solved

I wish to report a theft. Someone has stolen Mini. She has been replaced with an evil doppelganger. I am no longer greeted by my friendly little splash hen when I go out to the coop. She doesn't sit with her head to one side making that distinctive 'Brum' (kids tv programme) noise or try to sit on my shoulder when I hang out the washing. No, this new evil doppelganger does not want to be my friend.

Instead, she sits in the never-used nestbox, bum up in the air and head pulled right in to her body. If I lift the lid to check on Belinda, the Other Mini shrieks at me and raises all her feathers in a display of chicken aggression. This banshee-chicken won't lay any eggs, but will steal anyone else's. In fact, this Mini has even impressed Belinda with her hormonal insanity.

Judging by the fact that Belinda has now been broody for over a month, I suspect that my lovely friendly Mini will be on an extended holiday, perhaps showing her face again at some time in July. Yep, Mini has caught broody.

Thank gawd she isn't ill again!

Leaving Chickens

For the bank holiday weekend, we decided to visit my family. We don't get to see each other that much, and I really miss them all, but leaving home also has consequences. When you have really spoiled hens, who are used to free ranging and being fussed over daily, it feels horribly cruel to leave them locked up for days.

I fretted and ummed and ahhed about asking the neighbour to pop in and keep an eye on them. However, as the ever tolerant husband pointed out, that would mean leaving the side gate unlocked and unbolted. Hmmm. So, it was a toss up between leaving them at the mercy of the two legged fox (the fabled chicken rustler), or just leaving them to it. Hubby finally bundled me out of the door after I checked the locks/drinker/feeder for the umpteenth time, and we headed down soth to visit the human members of the family.

We had a lovely time, and only stayed for one night. I didn't spend the whole time worrying about the girls, but a considerable amount of it. Hideous scenarios of chicken annhialation played on my mind. What if it got really hot, and Maeve would be slowly cooked in the greenhouse? What if Mini did her usual 'escape-from-Belinda' trick and managed to spill the water? Would I get home to a load of pathetically dehydrated birds, gasping their last? What if there was a monumental ruck which resulted in blood and feather loss? Would incarceration in the (reasonably sized) secure run lead them to go out of their tiny chicken minds? What if Belinda just stayed on the nest, refusing to eat or drink without my encouragement? Oh, the burden of responsibility!

Therefore, the first thing I did when we arrived home yesterday evening was to rush to the back door. I would have been even quicker, if the ever tolerant husband hadn't been in my way. He claims he was checking just to spare me the potential horror of what might await. I think he just missed them.

Of course, they shrieked their heads off to be let out the second they clapped eyes on us. They immediately set about cutting the grass. Belinda didn't come down the ramp with chicken glee, so I nervously approached the nest box. Taking a deep breath, I raised the lid. Belinda looked up at me, bright eyed and very puffed up. On lifting her out, I found six warm eggs in her nest, lovingly tended. Dumping her on the lawn, I removed her 'babies' and gave her some corn to make up for it. She ate with gusto, making me feel a whole lot better.

Maeve was particularly glad to see us. She ran around the garden like a loon, roadrunner stylee, cheeping like mad. Once she'd used up some energy, she toddled up to the back door where I was sitting on the step. She tilted her head to one side, gave me a stern look, and then jumped up on to my knee. After a bit of a fuss from me and the hubby, she got over excited and jumped onto my head. Chicken talons in your scalp is not the most pleasant of sensations. I strongly suspect that for Maeve, however, this was a gesture of chickenny affection closely associated with joy. Bless her.

An Ongoing Battle

Belinda is teetering on the edge of full blown broodiness. If I turf her out of the nest box, she potters for a bit and eats, but if she catches sight of the coop, she legs it back up the ramp to make herself comfy. I imagine that while she sits buried in the wood shavings, she's dreaming of cute baby chicks. Now I have a fresh appreciation of the word 'broody'. Lindy is totally single minded. She can think of nothing but chicken motherhood. I actually feel quite sorry for her.

Doris pops her head into the coop to counsel her pal, clucking in a reassuring manner before wandering off again. She is definitely the kindest to Belinda's predicament. Mabel tends to barge in, sit on Lindy 'til her eyes bulge and she is forced to move, and then complain loudly that she can't lay her egg in solitude. Maude doesn't complain, but tends to sit on her anyway. Mini has decided that she wants no part of a broody Belinda, and has laid in the oft neglected other nest box. I don't blame her, Belinda isn't that nice to her when she isn't hormonal and crazed.

First Broody

I knew it was coming, and I even knew which hen it was likely to be, but I'm still not happy about it. Belinda has gone broody. Maude, Doris and Mini all laid this morning, and Belinda sat tight on her flock mates eggs for a good two hours. I gave her the benefit of the doubt, in case she too needed to lay, but it soon became apparent that Lindy had other ideas.

A broody hen flattens herself out over the nest, until she resembles nothing more than a feathery cowpat with a small head. Chicken mama hormones flood her system, giving her a crazy glint in her eye and a baaaaaad attitude. Belinda sat on those eggs, and she wasn't budging.

Tentatively, I reached in to the nestbox and stroked her back. She growled at me. A definite undulation of her vocal chords told me in no uncertain terms that if I pushed it I'd end up with less fingers than I started with. Mabel bobbed anxiously in the coop doorway, needing to lay her own egg but nervous of approaching the shrieking harridan within. My top hens nerves told me that I had to break the broody.

I propped open the nest box door, letting a cruel wind blow all over the sitting hen. A broody hens body temperature sky rockets, and cooling her down again can break the broody spell. Belinda glared at me, and dug herself deeper into the wood shavings muttering obscene chicken oaths. Ten minutes later, my youngest son tried to lift 'his' hen out of the coop to play. He got a solid peck on the finger for his troubles. Now it was personal.

Taking a steadying breath, I reached in quickly with both hands to lift her. Chickens are easily confused, and faced with two potential pecking targets she froze in indecision. I plonked her down in the run before she came to her senses and chewed my fingers off. The poor hormonal hen looked a bit bewildered to find herself doing her best cowpat impression in the open. Doris wandered over and used her as a stepping stone to get to a particularly green blade of grass. This was too much for Belinda, who shakily stood up and staggered off to eat something. After stretching out her legs by walking about in circles for a while, she took off up the garden to chase Mini.

She's broody, but so far, easily distracted.

The Best Spot

There are two nest boxes in 'The Convent'. Guidelines for hen keepers recommend one nestbox per four hens, so two should be more than enough. Five chickens should be able to share two nestboxes no problems. Except, of course, they can't. The four currently laying hens all favour the right hand nestbox. So, this morning, all hell broke loose.

Belinda is on the verge of going broody. She sits in the nestbox, lays her egg, and then sits on it. If I open the lid and peer in at her, she doesn't so much as ruffle a feather. Belinda is in the zone. Her chicken eyes stare vacantly in to the distance, her wings are spread over the nest and her little feathery bum is stuck up in the air as she balances on the definitely infertile egg she has just laid. This has been going on for a few days, and the amount of time she has spent on the nest is gradually increasing. I'll allow her to sit for a little while, and then unceremoniously boot her out with the others. Up until today, she has taken this good naturedly and toddled off to eat worms. Today, however, the broodiness is taking hold.

I knew that she was in the nestbox, as I could see the others pooing/munching/bokking their way around the garden. I peeked in on her, only to be met with that peculiar stoned stare. Tutting to myself, I shut the lid and let her get on with laying her egg.

Five minutes later, there arose such a racket I thought we might have been visited by a fox. Rushing outside, I counted two hens. Not good. I yanked open the door to the coop, and was greeted with a ridiculous sight. Belinda was sticking fast to her position in the nest, but Mabel absolutely could not wait. So, instead of using the perfectly acceptable other nestbox, she decided to wedge herself in beside Belinda. Mabel is twice the size of Belinda, so it was a little cramped.

Sniggering at the daft hens, I suddenly realised I was still one hen down. After a quick and fruitless recce of the garden, I peered more closely into the nestbox. Yep, there was Mini. It seems that Mini had been first to climb in next to Belinda. Mabel obviously came across this arrangement, decided that Mini was only practicing egg laying at the moment, and was also bottom hen. So she sat on her. All that was visible of little Mini was a beak, jutting out from underneath Mabel's matronly bosom. Shoving the humungous Mabel aside, I rescued the slightly flat adolescent and stood her on the ground to check for squashing injuries. She looked a little dazed, gave herself a shake and then speedily legged it back up the ramp and into the nestbox. Clambering over Mabel and Belinda, she wedged herself at the back. All the while, the perfectly clean and comfy adjacent nestbox sat empty.

Chickens: not MENSA candidates.

Qick update: Mini has laid her first egg!! It's my first five egg day! Woo hoo!