Broody, Bullied and…Back?

With our third little flock of hens, John and I had hit the jackpot. Or so we thought.

Sweet and easygoing hens

For months, our five Buff Orpingtons, an especially gentle breed of laying hens, were model chickens. They’d settled into their new home without a glitch, started laying right away, and were cooperative and copacetic—a far cry from our previous flock, with the three savage black Sexlink hens that nearly killed our poor Buffy. (At the time, our lone Buff Orpington.)

Anyway, we thought we had it made. Until one of the hens went broody.

Which, as I understand it, means that a hen’s mama instinct kicks in, and I’ve heard Buff Orpingtons are especially prone to broodiness. A hen will sit on the nest in a sort of somnolent state, from sunrise to sunset—although if you try to get her off the nest, she’ll hiss at you. The problem is, she stops laying eggs, and often won’t get off the nest to eat or drink.

This particular hen seemed to be less vigorous than the others, and had developed slower (her comb was sort of shrunken, and pink instead of a pale red). When she wouldn’t get off the nest, I bodily lifted her off, and placed her in the yard with the other four. After a few days, she seemed to get the idea and rejoined the flock.

Then last month it happened again—despite all of our Orpingtons looking exactly alike, I’m almost positive it was the same girl. She’d been in the middle of a heavy molt while the other girls had molted in late winter. From my research, I gather than when a hen is out of sync with the flock, it can lead to problems.

Our Alpha girl, who seems to set the agenda of the flock (and strangely enough is the smallest hen!) began chasing this hen away from the feeder. And often hassling her out in the yard. Not pecking her or anything, but this more passive hen seemed to be intimidated enough to hide out in the coop most of the day.

So there was poor Miss Broody, spending her days in a nest box again.

I knew she’d likely stopped laying because I’d often discover her on an empty nest, and our egg production was 2-3 eggs per day inside of 4 or 5.

So I went back to the drill. Gently lifting her off the nest (despite her objections), setting her out in the yard with the others, and giving her a little feed on the ground. Then closing the nest guard to keep her out.

For about two weeks, she’d go right back into the coop and either settle onto the floor, or stand next to the nests, squawking plaintively. Then a few days ago, when it was nearly dark, I discovered that she had settled onto the floor for the night—apparently too intimidated to claim her spot on the roost. I guessed she’d been sleeping on the floor for some time.

My conclusion: the other hens had decided she was an outsider.

I carefully lifted her to the roost. She seemed unsure and shaky, and after I stepped out I heard a thump and peeked back in. She’d jumped back down to the floor.

So, same drill: I set her back on the roost, and amazingly, there she stayed. The next night, finding her on the floor again, I once again set her on the roost. Hesitantly, she scooted closer to the other four girls.

The next day, she was spending a few hours outside with the other four. That night, when I found her on the floor and got her onto the roost, she not only scooted a little closer, but actually nestled against the huddled-up foursome.

The day after that, she was bellying up to the feeder and eating away; today, she burst out of the pen with the other girls to peck at the scratch John always tosses out every morning.

We’ll be watching her carefully, to make sure she doesn’t resume her bad habits—that she has fully rejoined the flock. But for now, Miss Broody is back!