Miss Broody Sets a Record, Part 1

I thought our hen had gone permanently broody.

In fact, she had spent so much of her life sitting on a nest without anything to show for it that John and I named her “Miss Broody.”

For those of you new to my chicken tales, Miss Broody is our one remaining laying hen here at Berryridge Farm. I’ve written about her rather colorful young life (and those of her gone-but-not-forgotten “sisters”) numerous times on my Little Farm in the Foothills blog.

To fill you in, broodiness is a state in which a laying hen’s chick-raising instincts kick in. But instead of producing eggs, all she wants to do is hatch them. If there are no eggs in the nest, she sits there anyway—day and night, 24/7.

Now, laying hens are pretty much all about eating, snacking, and scratching the soil, searching for bugs to munch on. It takes a lot of protein and nutrients, vitamins and minerals to produce eggs!

Unfortunately, broody hens aren’t really interested in food, or even water. So as the days or weeks pass without proper nutrition, their health and wellbeing can really dwindle.

I’m no expert, but it seems to me with that kind of dedication, the hen’s hormones have sort of tricked them into thinking they are hatching eggs. 

In any event, a broody hen doesn't actually just sit on the nest—she settles her whole self into the bedding, fluffs out her feathers, and sinks her head into her chest. Eyes half closed, she'll generally act like she’s in a stupor. But woe betide the person who disturbs her: she'll rouse instantly, and squawk or even hiss at you! 

 And since a broody hen completely stops laying, she’s just not earning her keep.

Miss Broody is a Buff Orpington—a breed known for a tendency for broodiness. Research tells me that a hen’s broody period is supposed to last about 21 days. The problem is, the broody hens at our place had really gotten into it—often staying broody for weeks and weeks on end.

 And this summer, Miss Broody was on a hen-brooding marathon: she would just not snap out of it.

 As August wound down, despite my coaxing to come off the nest and enjoy some weeds, and putting feed and water right under her nose, she was eating barely enough to stay alive. 

I had grown resigned to her fate: this poor little chicken was going to live out her days alone in the coop, silent, pale and sickly, until she simply gave up the ghost.

 But at the end of August, there was a new development in the coop... 

Next week: Part 2--Or you can read the full story at Little Farm Writer!