One of Evie’s 4-H banty hens decided to lay her eggs in a flower pot on the patio table. I didn’t stop her because, to be honest, it was a pretty handy spot to grab eggs from. If all my chickens conveniently deposited eggs 5 feet from the back door, we would be living high on the hog indeed (I obviously have low standards for luxury living).

And then we forgot for about a week.

And, being a banty hen, she of course immediately decided that my negligence was her opportunity to go broody. 🤦‍♀️

I first got wind of this the other night when I went to clean off the table and heard the terrifying velociraptor roar of an angry 12 ounce bantam chicken. Few things will make me back up faster than that spine-chilling sound. It triggers the same primitive part of your audio processing that gives instant flight from the hoofbeats of a raging bison stampede, the roar of saber-toothed tigers or the manic wailing from a Justin Bieber comeback tour. You hear it and you just run, no questions asked.

And now we are all too scared to use our patio table…despite a plethora of beautiful fall days that would be perfect for sitting outside and enjoying a cup of tea in our comfy patio chairs. While I love sitting outdoors on a sunny day, I’m not so keep on the possibility of losing an eye to the possessed territoriality that is a nesting bantam. It’s dangerous enough walking past the table to get through the front gate, I don’t want to find out what body parts I might end up missing if I actually say down. 😬

But the joke is on her because in the still darkness of night, using all my carefully honed chicken ninja skills, I may have swapped her eggs out for those of some of my “big girl” hens from whom I’d like some replacements. 😜 It was some risky business but totally worth it to boost my waning farmer morale. Between the ceaselessly multiplying guineas, the turkey that has me trained to bring her grapes on demand and being the “proud” owner of a 10-year-old, 800 pound retired brood sow (we all know we will never eat Mama Pig), my “farmer” credentials need some help. I needed this win.

Brood away little lady, and scream at me all you would like, but you will raise me some useful chickens and not more tiny, angry nesting demons.

Related Posts