The mother load

Written by Elaina R. Bergamini

Saturday, 13 January 2007

All this time, I wondered- "why are my chickens laying such a scant number of eggs?" I thought perhaps the cold. The dark. The new coop. Chickens are creatures of habit. They like their bed, their food, their paths around the yard each day. They have their routines. The routine gets broken and they get stressed and stop laying. They each have their own personalities. The rooster likes to follow me around as I complete my chores. No matter the chore. Whether it be chopping wood- ax blade inches from it's neck, or picking rotten tomatoes in the garden or adjusting the tensions on the guy wires for the tower. He's there, talking to me, watching. When I bend down to pick something up, he runs over and checks for food. Each day for the last month or so, since we finished the chicken coop- a design including actual human-sized doors and windows, one of my chicks has taken to “bum rushing” the door as I enter each morning to feed them. I kept thinking that I needed to feed them first so that she knew where the food and water was and then let them out. But each day, I put the food down, she ignored it, waited to bust out, and then raced me to the house- sometimes with a concerted attempt to follow me into the house. I thought nothing of this behavior, aside from a dismissive, “weird chicken.” As of a couple of days ago, my assessment has changed. She is actually sneaky and intelligent and conniving. One morning, I opened the door to feed them and she darted between my legs and started her race to the house. I shook my head, I may have muttered to myself, and then fed and watered the rest of the chickens. This can take a little while since one of the chickens likes to sip the water from the stream that pours from the bottle, so I pour slowly for her. When I started walking back to the house, I heard the one little chicken rustling around in the shed next to the house. I came around the corner and didn't see her, so I announced myself, “What're you doin'?” That tricky chickie popped up from behind a snow shovel and scurried out as if to say, “Nothing... nothing going on here... move along... what're you doin'?” I passed her, ignoring her noisy protestations, and found a pile of eggs behind the shovel and tucked in behind a door. 14 eggs. She's been HIDING THEM on me- like the eggs of the golden goose, precious and coveted. Grumble. Since then we have come to an understanding- she lays IN the coop (Bergamini's Chicken House of Ill-repute) and I collect them each day... at least I think that's the understanding. I guess I can't leave much to assumption when it comes to this common farm bird. I'm still going to suspect every nook in the woods.

Last Updated ( Saturday, 13 January 2007 )

 

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