Egg Train

Nina and Nora waiting for the egg train

Nina wasn't moving fast enough.  By the time I got my camera to document the commotion, Latifah had jumped from the floor, crowded past Nina, and headed straight in to the nest.  My picture noted that Nina was first in line at the cozy door (she's the black hen), but now Noisy Nora was on the train as well.

Noisy Nora

As regional hen manager, my Things I get to do today include developing a queueing process for egg ladies on urgent business.







Noisy Nora* (aka Nora Jones Chicken) has plenty of advice for me.  Her strident comments start first thing in the morning, before reasonable chicken keepers are yet out of bed, and continue throughout the day, depending on how much she "needs" my attention.  All previous Nora chickens (there have been four Nora's so far) have had gentle, sweet voices like their name sake.  But this hen has been taking lessons from a fish-wife.  I just wish I could make out what she is shouting about.

Katy waiting her turn in the egg train

And now, moments later,  the queue includes Katy Perry Chicken as well. There's a method to their chicken logic.   Regardless of all the cackling, squawks, and chatter, they are figuring it all out and laying eggs everyday without my help.

Katy--not waiting any longer
"Here I come whether you're off the nest or not.
 Just pull in your big ego.  I'll use the box next to you."

Just grab you ticket, take a number, get in line for the nest box and pray that Queen Latifah Hen is not holding court when the egg comes irreversibly down the track.











*Noisy Nora is the title of a children's book about a "middle-child" mouse whose parents are busy with older sister and younger brother.  Nora demands attention in her own way.  Rosemary Wells is the brilliant author and illustrator.

Roll Call

Today's the day.  Yup.  All the girls have checked in.  Now I'm thinking back to very early winter when none of the girls was laying.  I remember taking in the first one, and then learning how to count all the way to two.  Surely, keeping track of the hens laying records as they were first figuring it all out would make a terrific two-year-old's project:  if you can hold up two fingers, you've got the egg counting thing covered.

Katie, Lena, Nina, Latifah and Nora laying it on the line

But now, now, it takes me both hands, full to overflowing on some days, to bring in their gifts as one of the Things I get to do today.   




"Katie Perry Chicken, thank you, dear. Such a rich shade of tan."

"Miss Nina Simone Chicken, got your work done early today as usual, I see.  Thanks so much.

"Nora Jones Hen, I do say, such a big handsome egg you lay, lovely, just lovely."

"And Queen Latifah Chicken, what do we have here in the nest? Thank you for remembering where to put it this time."

"And my darling, shy, Lena Horne Hen, such a delicate, warm egg you just laid. Thank you, sweet shy one."

Nervous Nelly

My hens are famous singers:  Nora, Lena, Katy, Latifah and Nina.  Nervous Nelly is not the given name of any singer I know, though most singers have had their times in this role.  Today Latifah is Nervous Nelly.

There are plenty of Things I get to do today, but they come to a halt as I stand transfixed at the antics of this hen.  She stands and cackles in consternation.  She runs into the coup.  She charges back out into the yard with the gang.  She rushes into the coup and half way up the ramp into the nest area.  She flaps down and runs out.  She runs back into the coup, up the ramp, into the nest. There's a burst of cackling.  Out she comes again. (Note to gentle reader:  to describe the next half hour, I would repeat the above for that length of time.  Please just do that in your head and save us both the dithering.)

I did it all by myself!

I finally pull myself back to the knitting project for Auntie, knowing, hoping that Latifah will get it all sorted it out soon. Then,  as I complete a section of work, I'm aware that calm has settled where chaos was.  Latifah has returned to the flock, is scratching and pecking, nervous no more.  Whatever it was has passed.  I head out to check the nest box for an egg.  Empty.  I circle the coop looking for the "Easter" egg. None.  A wider circle brings me to the treasure out by a far gate, on the grass and the mud, a lone, large warm egg.  I realize her concern.  What to do with a whopper-sized load as it's coming through?  Her solution was to run in crazy circles. It apparently worked.

Nina and Latifah in amazed admiration

Latifah's egg is second from the left--2 3/4" long or more*

*Post script:  Latifah's giant egg had two fabulously orange yokes.

Easter Already?

Eggs here and there about the yard--could it be Easter?  I knew it wasn't, of course.  We still have our Christmas lights up.  On second thought, that's not such a good indicator.  There has been an occasional time (well, maybe "times") when our colored strings on the eaves have still hung aimlessly until March and a very early Easter.

I've been watching the Laying Ladies lately--quite a bit, actually.  With all past hens, over time I've been able to match the hens with their eggs.  Just need to see who goes to the nest and put the resulting product with the producer.  The other day Latifah cooed and cluckled and hiked the ramp into the nest area.  She was on a mission to lay.  Not long after she was back out in the hen pen with her flock.  Eager to make the match, I headed out to the nest boxes to inspect.  They were all empty.  There was an egg on the ground by the raspberry canes a bit later.   Must be Latifah's--in such a hurry to get back to playing "hunt and peck" that she just couldn't sit still any longer.

Maybe new layers are practicing building patience.  How long can you wait on a nest for the egg to move through and out?  Apparently, if you (hens, of course) are new at it, it takes a bit of learning. Not having every been a hen, I can't describe the process with any accurate detail.  Let's just say that several of the girls are still getting the hang of it.  Several of them have it nailed.

One for me

One for my husband

Our Sunday breakfast (I know that today is Monday) is usually omelet.  My husband makes them.  He's taken tips from the masters and practiced the wrist action needed for the "perfect turn" for years.  He's good.  The omelets are good. "Love my breakfast" is always the beginning of Things I get to do today if it is Sunday morning.  But yesterday morning we were an egg short.  God bless Katy Perry Chicken--I had seen her head into the nest.  And just as we were ready to crack the eggs, she was back out in the yard having taken care of things she gets to do today.  The egg in the nest box was still warm, bloom just dried, as we cracked it and added it to the rest.  Looked like an Easter Breakfast to me.

Squirrel Eggs

I'm expecting.  That's saying a lot, especially considering that it's squirrel eggs I'm looking for. Here's the deal.

I feed my hens all the right things.  Now for a hen, besides sow bugs, earwigs, slugs, worms, flies, grubs and anything else that is small enough and slow enough to be caught in a beak, the right things are water, oyster shells and "layer pellets."  They drink a fair amount of water.  Hens go for the oyster shells on a need-to-eat basis.  Their body just tells them when their calcium is low, and they head on over to the nutritional buffet.  Layer pellets, however, are their staple.  The pellets have the right balance of protein and fat.  Most importantly the pellets have calcium needed for strong shells when the hens are laying eggs.  To make eggs, the girls need "layer" feed or the equivalent.

But back to the squirrels.  I've discovered that if you are feeding large critters (chickens), everything smaller that wants to eat can get to the food as well.  Little fly-by birds, rats and those very large rats with fluffy tails that we call squirrels all get in line for their (not so) fair share.  If the hens can get in, so can all the rest.

Squirrel ran up the near-by tree to avoid a mug shot.

I would never put out a squirrel feeder. These critters multiply based on food supply.  There are enough of them in my neighborhood that they are routinely seen flattened on the road. Not only is my layer feed increasing the numbers, but also we have squirrels that are off-the-charts obese. One of them waddled across the yard the other day, barely able to run. When the hens are not in the feeding buffet, there is usually a squirrel clamped to the edge, stuffing its cheeks, stuffing its belly, stuffing its paws.

It can't possibly be one of the Things I get to do today, but I'd certainly like to find the nest where those squirrels are laying all those eggs they're making from eating what I feed the chickens.

Lay, Ladies, Lay

Bob Dylan probably didn't raise chickens.  His lyrics (with minor adjustment, I must admit) have been ringing in my (chicken's) ears lately.  "Stay, Ladies, Stay. Stay in the nest awhile."

Eggs laid on a "big brass bed" on New Year's Day!

Things I get to do today: learn to count to four!  When it comes to counting, I know what "0" looks like in the nest. That's what we have had since the first part of November.  Straw, straw and golf balls.

We had four (4) eggs today!  That's a big number for this chicken/egg (did I get them in the right order?) farmer. I'm just tickled tan to be able to tell you about this, 'cause it means I'll have eggs to share very soon.  Take a number, be on my sweet side and we'll see what the Ladies can do!

Inside Out

What's all the ruckus about eggs from your own chickens?  An egg is an egg.  Under the proper conditions it will grow into a chicken.  No big deal (other than the miracle of this whole process under any circumstances).  Or not.

Now that at least one of my girls has moved into puberty and ovulation, my list of Things I get to do today includes telling you what the big deal is.  There are even pictures (worth a thousand philosophical tweets) to help you get the full message.

A hen in my hen pen grazes on greens every day.  To be healthy she needs her grain, grits and oyster shells, but to be contented she needs to scratch the dirt and duff, eating from it whatever she pecks and pleases.  To be blissfully happy, she gets the greens.  You can see the evidence of the variety in diet by the color of the yolk.

Store bought: Big and pale

A store bought egg, even those that say cage-free, seldom, if ever, comes from a chicken who gets fresh grass or greens on her daily menu.  Visually, here is the difference.

Dark yoke in the egg  from my hen

Healthy, contented and very happy hens wander about the whole back yard (aimlessly it seems, but they are really just using their beak as a directional device: here some grass, there some dirt, over there some chicken feed. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.)

Side-by-side comparison of two eggs.  Next time you turn an egg inside-out, check for a green-grass center.

The orange-yoked egg from my hen is small (the hens first attempt
 often produces a little egg) compared to the yellow-yoked store egg.