For a couple weeks one of the chickens was spending almost all day inside the coop.
When we’d open the lid to look at her, she’d puff up and make angry sounds.
She wasn’t laying eggs consistently, and it was just generally worrying.
When I finally took time to investigate, it was clear what was going on.
She was “broody.”
She was trying to hatch eggs that were never going to hatch.
Sort of like me trying for the Olympics in figure skating.
Or any skating.
Or any thing.
Those eggs aren’t going to hatch.
A search of my favorite chicken guru; The Chicken Chick, told me what we needed to do.
A kind stranger off the internet loaned me a dog crate for as long as we needed, and we set up Broody in the garage where she could be safe and comfortable, but not able to make a warm, cozy nest as she had been attempting to do for the babies that would never appear.
After only a few days she decided (and her hormones agreed) that puffing up at us and sitting on the cold metal was not a great life path, so she has happily returned to trotting around the yard with her sister, eating bugs and scratching for worms and loving her life.
One bonus out of the experience was that Mocha and non-broody hen got to be good buddies.
You never know what’s going to happen next here at Shoebox Farm.