It’s in the high eighties today and humid so the girls are in the shade. The bossy ones have settled into the prime real estate of the loose cool dirt near the compost pile. But there’s not enough room there for everyone, so a few others are off to the side of the chicken house where it is shady and breezy. Still, chickens are restless and easily distractible creatures, so if you watch long enough you’ll see a hen or two wander by. And if you see them all suddenly come charging into view, it’s likely that I’ve just opened the back porch door. They’re optimistic. I might be coming out to feed them.

Even with the window open, the chicken house is a few degrees hotter inside than out. Three hens have been broody lately – Tweedledum, Snowball and Blackie. But on a sweltering day like today it’s only Snowball who has the willpower to stay indoors.

Snowball rasps a guttural warning when I go into the henhouse to check for eggs. Snowball sounds serious, but I can reach under her and collect the eggs without getting pecked at.

Tweedledum, the sweet and dim hen that she is, doesn’t even make a sound. She lets me lift her up and take away the eggs. Then she settles back down as if those three big eggs are still there.

Blackie has been broody for the last few days. She’s a big hen, with big feet and when I reach under her, sometimes I grab a toe by mistake. She fluffs her feathers in annoyance but neither utters a sound nor tries to stop me. Honestly, the eggs must be quite uncomfortable to sit on, so maybe the hens are relieved that they’re gone.