Half a dozen eggs today

Camilla on the far left, a Barnevelder checking out box #2, while another hen inspects box #4; chicken photos from yesterday, courtesy of my husband.

 

Yes, I KNOW laying eggs is what chickens do. Young, healthy, happy chickens who apparently don't care that tomorrow is the winter solstice. Chickens whose instincts are so deeply embedded that for thousands of years producing eggs ranks right up there with scratching for food, searching the highest spot for sleep, and clucking for no obvious reason. Okay, the last one is my addition; we just made an emergency visit to the run to confirm no predators had infiltrated because one of those ridiculous hens was clucking her dang head off!

I kinda know, or assume (for better or worse) I know why she was being so vociferous; they want out of the run. LOLOL! Sorry chickies, not today. The run isn't under water like it was a few days ago, ahem, because 1) It hasn't rained in several hours and 2) My husband extended the trench that lies parallel to the run, allowing better drainage. Yet those chickens aren't ignorant; they know fully well that on previous days they had far more expansive pecking grounds. However it's cold out, I have things to do, and as I said, the run is safe for them to wander. And if they don't like it they can march right back into the coop and lay six more freakin' EGGS!

Today's collection, clockwise from top left: oddly coloured egg, Barnevelder, Barnevelder, Camilla, Barnevelder, probably Owl.

Six of our eight hens are now firmly in the Layer's Club. The eggs most recently retrieved are quite petite, one probably from Owl, who was scoping out nesting boxes about ninety minutes ago when I last checked on them. The other egg is an odd colour, as though a mix of Barnevelder and Welsummer. It's the second or third we've received in that unusual shade, and I won't hazard a guess, though if I did, Cami Chicken could be the responsible party. Cami has begun squatting as soon as one gets near her, which is annoying when she flies on top of the hay bales and I'm trying to shoo her off. No chicken, don't submissively squat, just get off the hay!

If nothing else, three quarters of our small flock are doing what chickens do on the shortest days of the year, just shy of six months old, dude! You go girls, uh, yeah.....

But wait! They're just wee gals, well, Camilla is still her I wish I was the Queen self. She lays first just about every day. And yet, seeing her in a nesting box alters my usual perspective of her; she looks so vulnerable, so still, not as big as normal. Nadia was the same when she and Camilla initiated this egg-laying trip on the last day of November, a quiet little hen nestled in a safe spot, her body having reached a level of maturity that called forth an egg.

Yes, chickens lay eggs, but before they do, they are these fascinating creatures that eat and peck and poop and dust-bathe and forage and poop and drink and eat and scrounge and run away unless you have treats. If you have treats, they will eat them from your hand. Then run away. And they certainly don't submissively squat as if a Pavlovian response.

Having assumed we wouldn't get eggs until spring, we were perfectly happy to feed them, give them the occasional treat, change their water, etc, etc, etc. As an early wet autumn occurred, we fashioned a dustbathing box for them in the coop. Removing the barriers to the nesting boxes seemed like jinxing the whole egg-laying gig, but we did so, lining the boxes with hay and sawdust, then more hay. No straw, because they dig through straw for the wheat kernels, and that would have been a futile gesture. But they mostly leave alone the hay, unless they're in a straw frenzy, and they haven't messed around with the nesting box hay. They use the nesting boxes, DUDE! Why am I having such a hard time with/making such a big deal out of that?

Other hens waiting their turns, or just hanging out; Owl Chicken in the foreground, pondering the oyster shell/grit tray.

Again it comes back to how different they become, and vulnerable again is the adjective of choice. And yet powerful, in a very hushed manner (none of our hens possess obvious egg songs yet). Accomplished, accredited (LOL), aged. Suddenly my not quite six-month-old chickens are HENS. Thankfully none are broody, WHEW! They lay their eggs, then move on with life. Owl is still getting to grips with laying; she checked out at least two nesting boxes that I saw, while Camilla uses the first box on the left early in the day, 'nuff said.

One day they won't lay, I know, assuming they experience nice long chicken lives. But right now they are fully embracing their reason for being, and I'm absolutely gobsmacked by it. If they were more tame, I'd cuddle one close, whispering what a good chicken she was, how proud of her we are, and thankful too. None of our hens are at all embraceable, though Cami's squatting is hilarious because previously she was the most reticent of the flock when it came to human-chicken interaction. Now she thinks I'm a rooster. No honey, but get the heck off my hay bale!

Thus is my life as an owner of chickens. One of these days all eight will be laying, but I'll cross that crazy bridge when it pops on the radar. For today, there are six eggs to wash, and of course more checking later to see if some hen makes it seven, bless her little chicken heart!

Slight speckles denote the Welsummer heritage.

UPDATE: That odd egg does NOT belong to Cami, as she laid her own impressive egg an hour ago, see photo above. That's a total of SEVEN eggs for this day, one Barnevelder not joining her sisters. I have to say that Cami's egg is the LARGEST any of our hens has laid, definitely bless that Cami-gal's heart.

Today's final haul. Gotta love those hens!

Seven eggs, whoop-whoop! Now to figure out what to do with them all, LOL!