Chicken math is loosely defined as the
inability to ever have “enough” chickens, and the assurance that
your chicken population will increase to meet and exceed the space
you have available for housing said poultry. I've never really liked
chickens and was even afraid of them before we raised our first
chicks, but once I got used to having nearly a dozen fresh eggs everyday, I got way over it. I. Love. Chickens.
This year, I had enough chickens to
fill the free coop on our place, but the problem was, the brooder was
empty. We couldn't have that. I bought 15 new chicks (five of which
are little fluffballs that I splurged on just for fun) and set up the
brooder, and the next day I had a hen go broody. Her name is Bertha.
She's a Buff Orpington, a super fluffy yellow chicken, and she growls
and is uber-offended when I take her off her 11 eggs once a day so
she will eat. She chases us, chases the cat, chases the dog and the
other hens. (The rooster is in solitary, awaiting his trip to freezer
camp. That change is, I'm guessing, what made her decide to raise
babies while she could.) It has become a source of great enjoyment
for all of us to watch Bertha get all mad and fluff up her feathers
and cluck, and Lord, don't let another hen think she's going to sit
on Bertha's nest. It sounds like a chicken massacre with all the
squawking and growling and indignant screaming. (Yes, chickens
scream.)
 |
| Broody Bertha, well-rested and giving me the "stink eye." |
So this morning when I got Hubs and the
elder bambino off to school, the younger one and I started preparing for hatch day this
Friday. We got a regular old cardboard box, turned it on its side and
filled it with shavings, then attached it to the floor of the coop so
the babies wouldn't have far to fall if they fell out of the nest.
What surprised me was that Bertha was off the nest when I went
outside to let the girls out. Then I heard the most ear-splitting
growl/screech you can imagine, and realized that the eggs were still
nice and warm... under another hen. She was warning me to back off,
because this egg-sitting is serious business. Apparently, after 17
days Bertha got tired of doing this whole thing by herself and needed some time off, so she hired a surrogate broody to give herself a break.
Sounds like there's a lesson there,
doesn't it?
