Laurie's Everyday Notions

The years have started to blur together. I think our beloved rooster, Gizmo, was about six years old. Or may he was older. Regardless, he was one of our first birds. We were especially attached to Gizmo over all the others because he was the egg that I turned methodically everyday while it rested in the incubator. He was the one egg out of a dozen that hatched. In fact he was overdue. The 27 days were well gone but something told me to give him just a little more time. He was the one I helped break free from his shell (although I read later that I shouldn't have helped). Gizmo was the one who stood apart from the others with his shiny black-blue-green feathers. He was majestic in his beauty. As he aged he became feisty. He'd follow me around the pen, feathers rustled up as if I was not welcome on his turf. I think he just didn't want to be overlooked. He wanted me to pay attention to him rather than the eggs which I was collecting. Funny guy, our Gizmo. Yesterday he fell as...

 Mr. Rooster  Henny Penny and Sis Gizmo Last week I struggled with collecting eggs as a very protective hen guarded not only her eggs, but also the eggs of her housemates. I've since learned that this phenomenon is called "brooding chicken" or as my Grandmother put it, "The hen has turned clucky." My plan was to separate Henny and a roo so that she could fulfill her maternal desires....until two more hens decided to become her accomplices. So after doing the math: 1 egg laid each day x 3 clucky hens x 27 days (this is approximately how long it takes to go from egg to chick) = 81 eggs    ...that is a lot of eggs sacrificed to one clucky hen. On Saturday I entered the chicken coop, determined to show those hens that I was boss. I decided I could no longer be afraid of my sinister hens. I must be bold. It worked. I fooled myself and the hens. They haven't messed with me since. Yesterday, all the chickens rushed to me when I came ...

Raising chickens has been such a learning experience for me. Three or four years ago, when my son and I incubated those first eggs, I thought it was going to be a great science project. Little did I know that I would continue to learn so much more about chickens. My newest discovery is that hens can turn into aggressive, egg hoarders which I just learned are called by the name of a brooding hen. I have named my brooding hen Henny Penny. Gizmo (black rooster) and Henny Penny (golden hen) Henny Penny is not only protecting her eggs, she is hoarding the eggs of her housemates. When I advance towards her she puffs up, both her neck and her rear, yet somehow she stays firmly planted on "her" eggs. Without moving, she skillfully lashes out with her sharp, quick beak. Last night, shielded by my scrap bucket in one hand and the scrap bucket lid in the other, she still managed to peck my finger. This did not please me. After several attempts I grabbed the shovel...don'...