Hens don’t like to get caught in the rain. Like most birds, they’re waterproof up to a point, but then they get soggy. Soggy is heavy and uncomfortable, a predator can snatch up a sodden bird, and damp leads to illness. So, chickens avoid getting wet. When it’s pouring my girls seek shelter under the rabbit hutch or in the coop; when it’s clear they’re immediately back outside. A hen will go out in a drizzle, but avoid real rain. Today was one of those days when the hens were in and out.If you’re not sure how hard it’s raining, just check where the chickens are. That is, look at everyone but the Polish hens, Tina and Siouxsie. It’s a well-known fact that Polish chickens have no common sense.

Late this afternoon the rain was coming down in buckets. I decided to close up the barns early. Most of the girls were inside, although a few were under the rabbit hutch staying dry. I shook some corn in a cup and they all came into the coop. I  counted. I was missing one. I found Tina outside, hunched in misery and drenched to the skin, her top-knot flattened and muddy. I scooped her up, brought her into the coop and toweled her dry. For good measure I trimmed off the longest feathers on her head. It’s still not a pretty picture.

Chickens aren’t known for their common-sense (why do you think it was a chicken who cried “the sky is falling!”) but the Polish hens make the others look like geniuses. This is one reason why I don’t recommend this breed to beginners. You have to take care of them when it rains. Their fancy feathers bobbing on their heads make them targets for pecking, and they can’t see to get away from the bullies. If you’re looking for easy-to-care for hens that lay lots of eggs forget about the Polish. But if you like silly, go ahead and get a couple. Just make sure you have a blow-dryer handy.

This New Hampshire Red is the Queen of the Compost. She’s perched on the bin in the chicks’ run. I put the muck from the goats’ stall in here, as well as discards and weeds from the vegetable garden.

When the old hens lived here they never roosted on the compost bin. These 8-week old chicks are more agile. We’ll see how long these acrobatics last.

(The chicks will be named this week!)

Scooter knows how to celebrate Father’s Day.

Chickens in perfectly healthy flocks once in awhile lay thin-shelled eggs. As the yolk progresses down the reproductive tract, white surrounds it, then a membrane, and then the shell. It takes about 20 hours for the shell to form, and if during that time the hen is stressed, the shell might not fully develop. Sometimes there’s a glitch in that conveyor belt and the egg comes out too soon.

But, if your usually perfect egg-laying hen starts consistently laying thin-shelled eggs, something is amiss. They might need more calcium in their diet. They might be diseased. They might simply be so old that their body is depleted of shell minerals, and they’ll never lay a sturdy egg again.

Here at Little Pond Farm, my older hens were on the antibiotic Tylan, and two were on doxycycline. Antibiotics will cause thin-shelled eggs. The wife of a vet commented that doxy prevents calcium absorption, so Maizie and Siouxsie were especially lacking in shell-making ability. I fed them yogurt. I tried to keep them as stress-free as possible. Siouxsie laid that one, bloody thin egg, but then the next day laid a perfect, thick-shelled egg. I think she’s out of the woods. Maizie is still not well and not laying.

Yesterday I found yet another odd egg. It looked and felt like a deflating balloon.

I think that one of the Golden Comets laid it, but I’m not sure. I collected three brown eggs. Two were from the Golden Comets and one must have been from one of my older, rarely laying girls. If you catch one of the hens in the act, let me know! (I don’t eat these eggs, as the shell and bloom are not there to protect the egg from bacteria.)

Meanwhile, Betsy is still broody, and doesn’t budge, even when a larger hen gets into her space.

There must have been a thin-shelled egg under her this morning, because when I checked her later in the day, she was covered in yolk. I gave Betsy a bath. It’s easy to blow-dry a broody chicken – she just sits there.

By the way, the funny ridges you find on eggs, and those with odd shapes, are usually unique to each hen and are dictated by genetics. You don’t have to worry about those eggs or the hens that laid them; enjoy their quirks.

It’s a day to be optimistic. The sun is shining, but it’s not too hot. A walk around the yard is all it takes for stress and tension and worry to dissolve into the breeze. There are good things all around.

Soon to be delicious things. I’m hoping I’ll be able to harvest these blueberries when ripe before the chipmunks and birds do.

Swimming things. The Beast and her entourage are languid in the sunshine.

Slithery things. A baby garter snake is warming herself on the rocks by a back door. Stupefied by the heat, she stays put while I step around her.

Running things. The boys have been grazing in the back meadow. Lately they’ve been avoiding that area, despite the tall grass and briars that they so love to eat, because it’s been too wet and buggy. But today is a grazing day. Still, when they hear me by their stall they come running. I might have popcorn. Popcorn trumps all.

Old friends. Edwina is my regal old lady.

New friends. There’s always one in a lot that distinguishes herself. Agatha Agate, of all of the new birds, is the friendly one. She’s calm, she sidles up to all visitors, and she likes to be stroked. She’s not too bright, but she’s very sweet. I can already tell that Agatha will be the next hen that I bring on school visits.

There, I feel better all ready. Do you?