A couple of months ago, Steve had the bright idea of building a smaller coop and putting it up against the dining room window so we could watching chicken TV during dinner. We got really gung-ho about the concept for an evening; he sketched out plans while I scoured Craig’s List for more Fluffaluffagi (i.e., silkies, which he for some reason that I can’t quite fathom, loves). The next morning, we looked at each other and started laughing.
“I need a job,” he explained ruefully.
“I don’t have that excuse,” I said, even more ruefully.
When Henzilla went broody, he built a chicken tractor in a day. I was going to isolate her, as all the experts advise. But I was so gung-ho to have her hatch out some eggs, and I didn’t want to risk her broodiness being broken that I never moved her. And now that she’s rejected those eggs and was still trying to hatch out the plastic eggs, we figured it was time to try isolating her. So we moved the tractor (which in terms of weight is more like a combine) to the side of the house. I plucked her from the coop and settled her in there. She squawked furiously for about an hour–and now she’s re-incubating the plastic eggs.
It’s time to get more fertile eggs. Oh yes–and did I mention chicken TV? This is the view from our dining room: