I have one daily chore I don’t enjoy in the summer. It’s stealing the eggs from under our one hen that likes to set. I don’t mind that she pecks my hand; I don’t mind that I have to put my hand under her warm bottom to find the eggs; what I do mind is that after I rob her eggs she continues to sit there, day after day, waiting and waiting for her chicks to hatch and each day I know that I’m the one that steals her dream.
Tonight Calvin and I carried some beet tops and spinach that had gone to seed from the garden to give to the chickens. As I was robbing the nest, Calvin said, “Awwwww, just leave her a few eggs. It won’t hurt anything.” Starting tomorrow that hen gets her dream and it appears to be a win, win . . . until four weeks from now when I have to throw out the ones that didn’t hatch, and getting rid of rotten eggs is as just as bad as stealing a hen’s dreams.
6 comments:
oh dear. I was just telling Micah yesterday how I would like to live on a small farm someday. Then, I read this. I may need to rethink my dreams.
That is why we should just kill all of the chickens.
Ha ha, Ande you are so funny. And Jane you were seriously cracking me up with this one yesterday. I think you might be in group of a select few that have such compassion for a hen that wants to hatch her egg. You're a great hen owner.
How does Ande really feel? She sounds about like my little sister towards my dad's chickens.
But nothing beats never buying eggs because Dad keeps you supplied!
Poor chicken.
Oh dear. That last sentence says so much!
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