Thanks to everyone who showed up to talk “chicken” at the Verrill Farm Tomato Festival yesterday. Why is it that people bubble with happiness when they talk about their girls? I’ve been thinking about this. You hear that people love dogs because dogs provide unconditional love. Well, chickens bring chatty good cheer to one’s day. When I open the back porch door, the girls come running to their fence, with a look of expectant pleasure on their faces. Yes, even though they have beaks that don’t allow for expressive smiles (which we humans are programmed to relate to) it is easy to see their optimistic outlook. Sure, some of them are bossy and demanding, but it is done in such a fussy, curious, and silly way that you smile. That’s the thing about having hens. You smile a lot around them.

Did anyone see me raking the yard and shoveling out the coop this morning on hencam? Did you notice a certain small white hen in the way? Kicking up dirt always interests chickens; they come over to see if I’m scratching up something good to eat. They soon lose interest, though, as it is obvious that there are no worms in their yard. Snowball, however, likes the action. And she likes being near me. Which makes it quite awkward to wield a rake and shovel. I’m not sure what interests Candy – she doesn’t want bugs, but she was also underfoot. I think it is simply rabbit curiosity. I complain about them being in the way, but isn’t it the critters with the strong personalities that become your favorites?

Meanwhile, this morning, Ginger and Eleanor had their own little drama. Ginger was in the girls’ favorite nesting box, the one on the bottom left. She was fluffed up and hunkered down. In comes Eleanor, who wants to lay an egg there, too, never mind that there are five other empty boxes to choose from. So she stands in front of Ginger and cackles in Ginger’s face. Ginger ignores her. Eleanor complains even louder, turns in a circle, stretches her neck up so that she is looking down at Ginger. Ginger ignores her. Finally, Eleanor gives up and settles into the middle box. And the two hens look as peaceful and content as laying hens do.

This has been the first time in the ten years that I’ve had hens, that the girls couldn’t handle the heat and stopped laying. We went from getting 10 eggs a day to only five. The back of their coop is in the shade, but it gets sun through the windows from morning to mid-afternoon. It was hot and stuffy and humid inside. I wouldn’t want to sit there and lay an egg, either. We hung up an electric fan. Their water was the temperature of hot tea. I put ice cubes in it. I moved the garden sprinkler so that it would reach their run. They appreciated having damp earth to lie in. I pulled crabgrass and put it in their shady corner to nibble on. Still, they lost weight and stopped laying.

The weather broke this week. It has been just gorgeous here. High 70s and low humidity. I’ve been taking the hens up to the pumpkin patch where there are worms galore. They are fattening up. They’re laying again. Even got a pretty blue egg from Perrie today, and she hasn’t laid an egg for two weeks. Only the two slackers, our little bantams, aren’t laying. But that’s okay. Tweedledum is the one hen with full, show-quality feathers and a becoming plumpness. Now that it’s cooler, she’s been bobbing about, chuckling and chortling. Snowball has been underfoot. I’m sure they’re fine.

It’s been interesting watching the hens in the pumpkin patch. I bring in two at a time. They kick up dirt and eat worms and bugs and leaves. I sit in a chair and enjoy their company. When the two chickens who join me in “hen heaven” are best friends, like Eleanor and Edwina, their interactions are different than if it was, let’s say, Marge and Edwina. Friends in the garden stay close by each other, frequently brushing past each other, feathers touching. One watches what the other is eating, but rarely tries to steal it. There is little competition, but lots of guttural, cheerful clucking between them. On the other hand, put in two hens who are not best friends and they eye each other greedily and snatch morsels out from under the other. They will wander several feet away from the other. They cluck a bit louder and without quite as much chuckle. The two not-best-friends hens are still happy out there in the pumpkin patch, but it is clear that being with a friend is even better.

Late in the afternoon I take a couple of chickens for an outing in the pumpkin patch. It’s a fenced 30 foot diameter area of pumpkin vines, sunflowers and weeds, loose dirt, bugs and wiggling worms. Chicken Heaven. I have two chairs in the middle of it. Yesterday, my 12-year old son and I sat and talked and watched Tweedledum, Snowball and Twinkydink scratch, dust bathe and chatter.

All was pleasant, but then Twinkydink huffed up, walked in circles and looked distressed. Was she ill? No, she needed to lay an egg. Which she did, while walking about. It dropped two inches and broke. Twinkydink then stepped on it, smashed it some more and picked up the shell. The other hens came running to eat the yolk. Twinkydink took the prized shell away from the others and ate it.

Now, you don’t want hens to get to like the taste of eggs. They’ll break their own eggs if they know that they can. So that had me worried. Even worse, the shell was thin and flexible like a balloon, which is a textbook case of calcium deficiency. I bought ground oyster shells at the feed store today. I’ve read that old hens need more calcium, and since some of our girls are pushing three years, it’s probably time for a supplement. The oyster shells should take care of the thin shell problem. I’m hoping that the hens haven’t yet developed the bad habit of egg eating. I’ve been watching the hencam to see.