Banana

She’s all cute and fluffy and yellow. She’s tiny. She’s Banana Brave, the Baby Banty.

And she’s broody.

Again.

The littlest of all the flock of 16 hens, she is also the only one who gets broody from time to time. In these cycles, she sits on a nest continually, trying to hatch every single egg she can get underneath her.

Every day I find her sitting squarely and squatly on the same nest. I have to move her aside to get the day’s eggs out from underneath.

And it occurs to me as I write this that I don’t know how she actually collects all these eggs. Every day I get 5-7  out from underneath her. Only one of them is hers. How does she do it?

Maybe when I’m not around she steps off and cunningly invites her sister chicken wives to lay their eggs, obligation-free, in her nest, with the added assurance that she will see their embryos through to fluffy chick-hood.

Maybe I have the used car saleswoman of chickens in my coop.

Then there is the scream. Miss Banana actually emits a scream as I gently pull the eggs out from underneath her warm belly. It is a very tiny scream from a very tiny chicken, but heart-rending nonetheless. Along with the scream comes a distinctive look of desperation on her little chicken face. I’m convinced that she’s trying to make me believe I’m killing her.

Just as she tries to make the other hens believe that she will singlehandedly make sure their eggs hatch. Right.

She’s the littlest of the hens but I’m thinking she might be mighty diabolical.

Anna holding Banana.
Anna holding Banana.
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