So the hubby decided to convert the automatic door opener to solar power-thanks to me worrying about power loss and malfunctioning timer. For some reason the hubby makes me go with him to the coop. He opens the human door, walks in, and stops in his tracks. "What are those two doing?" He points at a pair of broodys sharing a box. "They are sharing a box," I tell him. "Why are they doing that?" He eyes them with suspicion. "I guess they want company," I replied with a shrug. At that moment Little Sister zooms in to see what is going on. She can move fast for a chicken with curled toes and a wry tail. She sashays up the ramp, looking at my husband with her neck stretched as far as it would go. "Why is she doing that?" asks the hubby. "She's checking you out," I reply. Little Sister, sporting her new hensaver, walks up the ramp, hops on the roost which is close to the husband's head. All the while she is watching him with her neck stretched. She does an about face, hops down, and assumes her march in front of the nest boxes. "Why is she doing that?" the hubby wanted to know. "She's the nest box drill sergeant. She makes sure all the girls get along while laying eggs," I tell him, and wonder if we are ever going to get started on the automatic door. "Well," the husband says and pulls his tools from his pockets. Little Sister began to sing to the girls outside the coop. Squatting at the door, the hubby pauses as Marie makes her way inside. She clucks indignantly as she makes her way up the ramp. Little Sister rushes forward to escort her to the next available nest. There are plenty, but Marie wants one that is already occupied. The resident hen, Cardboard Chicken, screeches a a horrible sound, gapes her mouth, and puffs her feathers. Her meaning was clear, but Marie barges in. Cardboard Chicken gives her a good peck, which causes Little Sister to get involved. She pushes Marie out of the way and stares at Cardboard Chicken. The two have a silent confrontation. Marie wanders off to find another box. Little Sister assumes the role of escort. "Why did they do that?" The husband pointed at the pair with a pair of pliers. "Cardboard Chicken does not share her nest box," I told him, and he returns his attention to the automatic door.. Little Sister is singing loudly by this time. Marie chooses her box, the one with the two broodys, who happily oblige her. The hubby and I work on the door for a few minutes, stretching the wire and so forth. The door had been closed for a few minutes, and as he tested the unit, he looked out the tiny opening. He stared. "They are on the ramp! Go look!' he laughed. I look out the window to see several hens on the ramp waiting to get inside, with a group at the base of the ramp wondering what was going on. The hubby stands aside to allow the girls to come in. Singing loudly, Little Sister rushes about to make sure nobody fought over who got to use which nest box. "Boy, she's a bossy little hen," remarked the hubby. And as if she understood him, Little Sister makes her way across the roost to look at the human in her coop. She gazes at him with her dark eye. Then explodes in a fit of cackling like I have never heard before. She told him what for, what not, where to go, and how to do it. The hubby just looks at her, not about to back down from the smallest hen in the coop. Jennifer, my bruiser hen, enters the coop and finds my husband's foot in her way. Always the assertive gal, she gave him a peck on the shin that he felt through his bluejeans. He stepped back and Jennifer saunters up the ramp with wings hanging an tough-gal angle. As she made her way up the ramp she bok-boks in a low voice, watching the hubby with her dark eye. Little Sister rushes up to her and escorts her to an empty nest box. Jennifer likes the box and settles in with her wings still spread at tough-gal angle. Little Sister sings loudly. Stan the Man, who is apparently intimidated by power tools, crows but keeps his distance. The hubby and I work on the door some more as the girls cackle and sing. Jennifer lays her egg and comes down the ramp. She finds her way blocked by my husbands posterior. She puts her wings at tough-gal angle and gives him a solid peck on his exposed backside. The hubby straightens his legs and politely holds the door open for her. She makes her way out and Louise peers in. Uncertain, she pauses, takes one step forward then takes one step backward. Little Sisters call to her from atop the nest boxes and Louise rushes in. She cackles excitedly and plops her dainty fanny next to a broody. The husband closes the door to work on the wiring. When there was a moment's silence we heard pecking at the door. The hubby raises the door and several indignant hens come in. Little Sister sings loudly, trots along the roost to peck my husband's hand. Apparently he had picked the wrong place to rest his hand. He moves it and Little Sister is busy helping the gals select the perfect nest box. Some how we managed to complete the job. I had learned something about automatic doors, and my husband learned the true meaning of the term, "Henpecked".