Desperation is the Mother of Stink Bombs
The new nesting box design has shown us a new side of one of our chickens in particular. If you refer to the photo in the last post, you can sort of see that the bottoms of the nesting boxes angle toward the back, and the backs aren't solid - there's a gap at the bottom of each box for the egg to roll to a little shelf at the back. The gap is about 2 1/2 inches and the lip that holds the eggs is another three-ish inches. Two weeks ago when we were outside cleaning the coops, I keep hearing a squak going up inside, and I'd come in to find one particular Myra climbing into the nesting box of a hen who'd just laid. She was crawling right under the other hen, who was loudly shouting "Do you MIND?" in chicken.
Myra finally gave up and took up residence in the next-door nesting box, but facing the back (normally the hens situate themselves facing outward). The Lucy who'd just laid got sick of hanging around and abandoned ship, and Myra snapped into action. She stuck her head through the gap at the back and used her beak to carefully maneuver the newly-laid egg along the little shelf at the back. It took a little doing to curve her long neck around it and pull it into her box, but Myra was both patient and resourceful. She moved the egg only a few millimeters at a time, sometimes bringing her head back into her box and peering out as though measuring her progress.
Once she had finally moved the whole thing into the box she was in, she carefully tucked it up under her and emitted a series of contented clucks.
Because that's what we need. Another broody hen.
We took all the eggs anyway, but this Myra would not be stopped. We started noticing that we'd leave the house in the morning and come home and she'd be out of her yard, scratching around and waiting for us to let her back into where the water is. Every single day, I'd come home expecting to find her eaten by the neighbor dog, but every day, there she was. Our egg production had fallen off, and I knew that she was laying her eggs somewhere.
The Pirate covered their yard with bird netting - the kind you use to keep birds from eating the fruit on your trees. He covered most of the yard, and she kept getting out. He covered the rest of the yard and she kept getting out. I was worried that there was a sizeable hole somewhere in the house or in the fencing of the yard, but if that was the case, all the chickens would be out.
That was not the case. Last Friday, the Pirate stood and watched her flap her way up onto the shelter over the waterer, then to the top of the fence where she got her head under the netting and worked her way through. She did this to get to the nest of 12 eggs she laid up. Poor thing. At this point, the oldest of those eggs has been there nearly two weeks and won't hatch anyway, and I'm a little nervous about having a full dozen already-green eggs slowly fermenting on the hillside.
The Pirate sewed the bird netting securely all the way around onto the fence and our problems in that arena have been solved, but it remains to be seen whether that particular Myra has quite given up her dreams of motherhood.
Myra finally gave up and took up residence in the next-door nesting box, but facing the back (normally the hens situate themselves facing outward). The Lucy who'd just laid got sick of hanging around and abandoned ship, and Myra snapped into action. She stuck her head through the gap at the back and used her beak to carefully maneuver the newly-laid egg along the little shelf at the back. It took a little doing to curve her long neck around it and pull it into her box, but Myra was both patient and resourceful. She moved the egg only a few millimeters at a time, sometimes bringing her head back into her box and peering out as though measuring her progress.
Once she had finally moved the whole thing into the box she was in, she carefully tucked it up under her and emitted a series of contented clucks.
Because that's what we need. Another broody hen.
We took all the eggs anyway, but this Myra would not be stopped. We started noticing that we'd leave the house in the morning and come home and she'd be out of her yard, scratching around and waiting for us to let her back into where the water is. Every single day, I'd come home expecting to find her eaten by the neighbor dog, but every day, there she was. Our egg production had fallen off, and I knew that she was laying her eggs somewhere.
The Pirate covered their yard with bird netting - the kind you use to keep birds from eating the fruit on your trees. He covered most of the yard, and she kept getting out. He covered the rest of the yard and she kept getting out. I was worried that there was a sizeable hole somewhere in the house or in the fencing of the yard, but if that was the case, all the chickens would be out.
That was not the case. Last Friday, the Pirate stood and watched her flap her way up onto the shelter over the waterer, then to the top of the fence where she got her head under the netting and worked her way through. She did this to get to the nest of 12 eggs she laid up. Poor thing. At this point, the oldest of those eggs has been there nearly two weeks and won't hatch anyway, and I'm a little nervous about having a full dozen already-green eggs slowly fermenting on the hillside.
The Pirate sewed the bird netting securely all the way around onto the fence and our problems in that arena have been solved, but it remains to be seen whether that particular Myra has quite given up her dreams of motherhood.
posted by Aoibheall | 8:40 PM
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