*Sigh* Chickens

Any one want some chicken noodle soup?


The tale of my exasperation begins with Tori.  Last week she decided it would be fun to be a mama, and went broody.  I was actually a little worried about her.  It's hot, after all, and sitting in a broiling coop all day (on eggs that weren't even all her own) seemed miserable.  Not to mention the fact that broody hens = grouchy!  

I spent a few days carefully shooing her off the eggs, but, by the end of the week, it seemed she wasn't going to give up.  After consulting with my chicken experts, I decided that the best way to "fix" the problem might be to work with it, instead of against it.  I decided to get her some fertilized eggs and see if she could hatch them.

Friday afternoon, I asked Nice Boss if he would bring me some from his roosters-welcome flock.  (Side note:  Like, four people in my office have chickens now--love it!)  He agreed to bring me a dozen on Monday morning.

Although I was initially hesitant, the idea of watching Tori raise babies quickly grew on me.  She's not a very good layer.  On anything less than a completely for-fun farm, she would have been served up with gravy by now.  But she's certainly sweet, and maybe, I thought, her mothering skills would make up for her lack of eggy prowess. 

Just as I was starting to get excited, however, Tori came out of the coop Sunday morning and greeted me like we were best pals again.  Her broody spell was broken.  And Nice Boss's eggs?  Became a double batch of chocolate chip cookies.

Then this afternoon, I went out to pick some basil for dinner and look for ripe tomatoes.  On really hot days, we like to let the chickens roam the whole yard--that way they can find the coolest spot.  I wasn't worried about the garden, because the only thing we really have growing right now are tomatoes.  The hens haven't ever cared much about those in the past, so I figured I was golden.


At first I though--just from the sheer destruction--that this had to have been done by the squirrels.  But a few perfectly beak-shaped holes told the true tale.

I love my girls, really, but....*sigh* chickens.