Once upon a time our long-suffering little hens laid three eggs a day.
Their eggs have never been easy to find, for despite having a perfectly good nesting box, they free range around our yard looking for the most difficult places possible to lay. So for a while we thought they had just discovered better hiding spots. Like right in the very centre of the grapevine, or underneath the spiky conifer. But no, the cold hard fact of the matter is that they have just stopped laying. And while Grace can't figure out why, there are a few likely causes.
Perhaps it has something to do with tea parties on the lawn. Or being spun around and around in circles with Grace while she dances. It could have something to do with them being flung into the air so they can 'learn how to fly'. Or maybe it's due to the trauma inflicted on them by Charlie chasing them on his bike, roaring with laughter and yelling, 'Look out pennies! Charlie coming!' at the top of his lungs. Or just never being given a moment's peace in order to actually lay an egg.
Whatever the cause, I'm hoping the girls start earning their keep soon, because Bern is talking about bringing in some industrial-sized shaver hens like Cochrans have.
Which were suitably unimpressed with Grace's attempts to catch and nurture them during our recent visit to their farm. Resulting in her sobbing floods of tears and flinging herself onto the ground while the hens watched on from a safe distance, apparently unmoved.
Up until now, bringing in new hens has felt a bit like replacing striking workers with cheap offshore labour, but not today. Today, I need to bake a cake and we have no eggs, and out the window, I see the girls, sashaying around the garden without a care in the world. And apparently no intention of laying me an egg.
Whatever the cause, I'm hoping the girls start earning their keep soon, because Bern is talking about bringing in some industrial-sized shaver hens like Cochrans have.
Which were suitably unimpressed with Grace's attempts to catch and nurture them during our recent visit to their farm. Resulting in her sobbing floods of tears and flinging herself onto the ground while the hens watched on from a safe distance, apparently unmoved.
Up until now, bringing in new hens has felt a bit like replacing striking workers with cheap offshore labour, but not today. Today, I need to bake a cake and we have no eggs, and out the window, I see the girls, sashaying around the garden without a care in the world. And apparently no intention of laying me an egg.
