Deaths are something one has to come to terms with. It’s a natural event that is unavoidable. Reducing population while unpleasant is usually necessary, sometimes for the benefit of the chickens, sometimes for the benefit of the keeper. I don’t like it but it’s one of those things that are unavoidable if one keeps chickens.
But, there are a few other things that leave me tearing my hair out.
Broody hens breaking eggs in their nest. It’s a complete disaster and it can take hours to sort out.
If for example you’ve limited the number of eggs the broody can sit on and hatch, that’s one less possible hatching.
The underside of the hen gets covered in sticky egg and if you don’t get her clean the other eggs stick to her underside. Not only can she not turn them, when she adjusts her position in the nest any eggs stuck to her now act as a wrecking ball and smash into the remaining eggs as they swing about underneath her.
The hen has to come out. She has to be cleaned off and thrown in a dust bath and kept there until the worst of the egg is soaked up. The nest has to be cleaned out and this means the eggs are disturbed; some of them will have to be cleaned off.
The really annoying thing is I have never had to do the nest and hen cleaning when the hen has nested away from a coop.
The dust bath disaster is another one that can send me into a fit of rage and then deep depression for the next couple of hours. It happens like this.
I’ll be sitting at the kitchen table with a few chickens wandering in and out of the house. One of the tribe will be missing and I go to find her. She’ll often be just outside the door in one of the favourite dust bath spots by the fence. I go back to my chair by the kitchen table and get on with whatever I happened to be doing. The hen that was in the dust bath wanders in. I leap up off the chair knowing in an instant by looking at the hen that she hasn’t shaken the dust off. I cover about half the distance between the chair and the recently arrived hen in semi crouched stumble shouting at the hen to get out; then she shakes! Dust goes everywhere. It travels three meters sometimes in all directions and that incudes up.
The hen of course stands there looking at me with that what’s your problem kind of look and gets most indignant as I propel her back out the door in a most undignified manner.
It’s out with the broom and duster, clean off the pots and pans, the cooker top, the sink, not to mention extensive floor sweeping. I’m very particular about how often I dust my house; once or twice a year is quite enough.
I smoke. I know I shouldn’t but I’ve established a very understandable excuse for it. As you may be aware, smokers lose to some degree or other their sense of smell. Frankly, despite all the health warnings I would be tempted to recommend to anyone who has broody hens to take up smoking.
Broody poop! It’s the most vile smelling concoction I have ever had the misfortune of assaulting my my olfactory glands.
But, there are a few other things that leave me tearing my hair out.
Broody hens breaking eggs in their nest. It’s a complete disaster and it can take hours to sort out.
If for example you’ve limited the number of eggs the broody can sit on and hatch, that’s one less possible hatching.
The underside of the hen gets covered in sticky egg and if you don’t get her clean the other eggs stick to her underside. Not only can she not turn them, when she adjusts her position in the nest any eggs stuck to her now act as a wrecking ball and smash into the remaining eggs as they swing about underneath her.
The hen has to come out. She has to be cleaned off and thrown in a dust bath and kept there until the worst of the egg is soaked up. The nest has to be cleaned out and this means the eggs are disturbed; some of them will have to be cleaned off.
The really annoying thing is I have never had to do the nest and hen cleaning when the hen has nested away from a coop.
The dust bath disaster is another one that can send me into a fit of rage and then deep depression for the next couple of hours. It happens like this.
I’ll be sitting at the kitchen table with a few chickens wandering in and out of the house. One of the tribe will be missing and I go to find her. She’ll often be just outside the door in one of the favourite dust bath spots by the fence. I go back to my chair by the kitchen table and get on with whatever I happened to be doing. The hen that was in the dust bath wanders in. I leap up off the chair knowing in an instant by looking at the hen that she hasn’t shaken the dust off. I cover about half the distance between the chair and the recently arrived hen in semi crouched stumble shouting at the hen to get out; then she shakes! Dust goes everywhere. It travels three meters sometimes in all directions and that incudes up.
The hen of course stands there looking at me with that what’s your problem kind of look and gets most indignant as I propel her back out the door in a most undignified manner.
It’s out with the broom and duster, clean off the pots and pans, the cooker top, the sink, not to mention extensive floor sweeping. I’m very particular about how often I dust my house; once or twice a year is quite enough.
I smoke. I know I shouldn’t but I’ve established a very understandable excuse for it. As you may be aware, smokers lose to some degree or other their sense of smell. Frankly, despite all the health warnings I would be tempted to recommend to anyone who has broody hens to take up smoking.
Broody poop! It’s the most vile smelling concoction I have ever had the misfortune of assaulting my my olfactory glands.
. Lol. 
Oh and Tiny takes dirt baths in her food while the other chickens look at her like she is crazy. 
