Not all hens go broody. Hybrids, designed for laying, don’t care a whit for their eggs after they’ve left them in the nesting box. But some hens want to sit. And sit. Even if the eggs aren’t fertile and there’s no chance of chicks, they’ll sit. Even if they don’t lay eggs themselves, they’ll sit on eggs left by other hens. A broody hen will sit for far longer than the twenty-one days that it takes to hatch a viable egg. Twinkydink once sat in a nesting box for the entire summer.

A hen that’s broody will pull out her breast feathers, so that her skin (which, by the way, elevates in temperature when broody) has direct contact with the egg. They’ll flatten out. They’ll be in a VERY BAD MOOD. Once a day they’ll get off the nest, leave a humungous stinky pile of poo, eat, drink, and go back on the nest.

If you want the fun of hatching eggs and raising chicks, a broody hen will do the job. But most of us don’t want that. We want pleasant hens laying eggs, not feathered furies occupying the nesting boxes.

I have two bantam White Leghorn hens. They are the “actresses who play Tillie.” They have a job to do. They cheerfully meet children and let the little hands pet them. They’re very good at this being as how they are sweet, friendly and pretty. But, Coco went broody as soon as the sun started to shine in the spring. Betsy had to handle several preschool visits without a backup. Then Betsy went broody. I have a storytime coming up in two weeks. So, Coco, the slacker, was popped into the broody coop.

A broody coop has a wire floor, off the ground, so that cooler air circulates and brings down the hen’s body temperature. She has food and water but no nest. You can return her to the henhouse to roost at night, but during the day, she needs to be back in the broody coop. It will take three days. She’ll be really ticked off for the first two, and then by the third, she’ll look bored and ready to get out. It did the trick with Coco. She’s back with the flock, showing no interest in the nesting box.

Betsy is still broody. She’s next.

Of course, there’s no guarantee that Coco won’t return to her bad habits. In fact, I’d bet a bag of feed that both of these girls will go broody again later in the summer. For now, though, at least Coco is back to work.

On Saturday Lauren Scheuer, my friend and blogger, came for iced coffee and conversation. Actually, her dog Marky came to visit Scooter and Lily, and he brought Lauren along. Where Marky goes, Lauren goes. Marky is a funny, scowling, chipmunk-hunting terrier. Scooter thinks he’s a very cool dog. Lily thinks he should play with her more.

What all of them think is that I should be the one to pet them.

It’s always been like this. I got my first cat when she bounded out of the woods and followed me home, despite the fact that I was taking a walk with three dogs who lived on my block. That was before I had my own dog, who started out as neighbor’s dog, but chose to live with me. Dale was not allowed in the house (my parents took a long time to warm up to keeping pets) but nonetheless, she became my dog.

Animals who, I’m told, “don’t like people much” walk across pastures to meet me. These old donkeys in England knew I was a good itch-scratcher.

Karen Pryor was visiting the other day and we talked about this. She, too, is an animal magnet. If you watch Karen around animals you’ll notice that she never stares directly at them, which, for almost all creatures, is a sign of aggression. Nor does she reach out, or grab, or hug. She doesn’t talk much to them, either. What she does do is pay attention. To body language. To a flick of the ear. To a deep breath.

Many animal “whisperers” claim to have secret connections to their animals. There’s nothing mystical about it. It’s quiet observation. It’s knowing the animal. It’s relating to them the way they want to be talked to.

Take your emotional neediness out of the picture. Forget about “unconditional love” and reading human stories onto your animals. See them for who they are and you’ll find plenty of stories, which are more true and more fascinating than any that you invent. Pay attention. Take a step back. And the animals come to you.

Where’s Lily?

She’s there.

Here, I’ll make it easy for you.

In just over a month the chicks have gone through a stunning transformation. That adorable puff-ball stage lasts only three days. Then the quills emerge, first on the wings, then on the necks. Soon more down flies and more feathers come in. Plumage seems to change as fast as the “horse of a different color” went from pink to blue in the Wizard of Oz The chicks’ mature look won’t occur until they are laying eggs, at about five months of age. Until then, I’ve been watching the costume changes and trying to match the chick to the breed.

My Meyer Hatchery order of 25 chicks specified ten different breeds. When the chicks arrived some were yellow, some were stripey like chipmunks, two had feathers on their feet and two were dead. The hatchery web site has photos of chicks, but honestly, all those yellow chicks look alike. Ken and I divided the order as best we could.

This is what was ordered: 2 Delawares, 2 Blue Cochins, 2 Barnevelders, 2 Welsummers, 2 Buff Chantecleers, 2 NH Reds, 2 Buff Orpingtons, 3 Dominques, 3 RI Reds, and 5 Speckled Sussex.

I know that I got the Blue Cochins that I wanted. Size and temperament vary as much as their sizes, but their color and the feathered feet confirm their breed.

Also obvious are the Speckled Sussex. They’re clearly dotted (I’m told the white swath on their chest will disappear as they mature.) It appears that I have three, so Ken is missing one, but that’s okay with both of us. There’s a lot of variation between the three in size and coloration. It’ll be interesting to see what they look like next year.

But, maybe I don’t have three. That one on the left has beige legs, not yellow. Is she something else?

At least the Delaware is obvious. Should I be worried about the size of “her” comb? It’s large, but pale. I know it’s a Delaware, but I’m not 100% convinced that it’s a girl.

Then there are the three yellow chicks. Ken has what we think are the two Buff Chantecleers. I’m supposed to have the Buff Orpingtons. Only two. But there are three. Two have the white legs and skin of the Orpington, but the other is a tad darker. (See the one on the left?) The problem is, there’s not another chicken on the order that should be yellow. However, we did get an extra chick (the hatcheries usually send a spare.) So, this must be it. The question is, what is it?

And then there are the brown chicks. There are two of these. I think they’re my New Hampshire Reds.

But I could be wrong. There’s also this one. Is it the Rhode Island Red? Or a Welsummer?

And there’s this gorgeous dark chick. Maybe she’s a Barnevelder. Do I even have a Welsummer?

What do you think?

The vet just called with very interesting lab results. They go to show that it can look like a duck, quack like a duck and walk like a duck, but not be a duck. My hens did not have Mycoplasma. They had foamy, shut eyes and respiratory distress and one died, all textbook symptoms of Mycoplasma – but they had a different infection. Despite $137 worth of lab tests, we’re still not sure what they did have, but we know what they didn’t. The tests were conclusively negative for Mycoplasma. There was a slightly elevated level of E. coli and gram-negative bacteria. Perhaps one of those, or both, caused the symptoms. Perhaps not. Fortunately, regardless of the cause, the treatment worked.

I’m of two minds about how worthwhile those tests were. Obviously, since I’m just getting the results back now, the knowledge they provide isn’t timely. If I’d waited to make treatment decisions based on the tests more hens would have died. However, if the Tylan and doxycycline weren’t effective, it would have been important to confirm exactly what infectious agent we were fighting and the cultures would have been worth the expense. In the end, for me, it’s worth it to find out what I didn’t know. I’ve a responsibility to you, my readers, to get it right. So much of what we think is going on with our flocks’ health is pure conjecture. In this case I’m pleased to know a tad more than I did before.