Fern's Amazing Rubber Egg

They say that one nest box is all you need for three or four hens. But when one of your hens is Lil'White, that's another story.


Lil'White hogs the nest box.  Always has.  


Sometimes she pretends to be broody, like this: 

Ouch!


...I swear she's faking it. 


Last year I made a new coop for my five gals, with TWO nest boxes.   
One for Lil'White, and one for everybody else.   


For some reason, everybody preferred Lil'White's nest box, so there was still a line of anxious hens waiting their turn.

Then I had a clever idea. 

I placed a rubber egg in the unused nest box to make that box appear desirable.


Instantly, that second nest box was deemed eggworthy by the flock, and we never had a problem with a long queue again.   


But another problem did creep up:

Her name is Fern.


Right about the time of the rubber egg, Fern stopped laying.
Until that time, she was laying beautifully -- 

Her petite blue eggs were regular treasures... maybe three or four a week.  


The shutdown of little Fern's internal egg factory was a mystery.


There are several reasons a hen might take a break from laying during the summer -- hot weather, a molt, broodiness, poor health...   I didn't see signs of any issues or problems in Fern.  

She was still the little whippersnapper she'd always been. Still getting into trouble.

(Closeup: Fern waits for Lil'White to resume pecking her on the head.)


Fern must have had her reasons for not laying eggs, and I supposed she'd get back to laying pretty soon.


Sure enough, after a few weeks, Fern did start marching into the nest box each morning. 

She preferred the box with the rubber egg. 

Every day, she settled in and hunkered down.


And when she was done, she stepped out onto the upper perch 

to formally announce her accomplishment. 

The problem:   
There WAS no accomplishment.
Fern wasn't laying anything.  
No blue eggs. No eggs at all. 


She still isn't laying, and it's been FOUR MONTHS.


For four months, she has been going through the motions, daily. 

...looks like Daisy's been here already.

Does Fern think she's laying a rubber egg every day?


If that's what's going on in her tiny little head, that's okay with me. But I really am dying to know.


If she never lays a cute blue egg ever again, that's okay too.  She won't end up in the stewpot because I still appreciate all the redeeming qualities that make her...well... Fern.


I guess Fern is just a bit unusual...


But, then, aren't we all?

Dubious Treat

I visited my little raised bed veggie garden yesterday and found that several tomato plants had been stripped of their leaves overnight.  I knew who did it -- just had to find the culprit: 

The EVIL Tomato Hornworm.   
Enormous.  
Covered in eyeballs. 
I kid you not.

I found it right away.  Took a deep breath, shook off my heebie-jeebies and plucked the pest off the vine.  What a treat for the girls! I took it straight to the coop, eager to watch my little hens chow down on this vile demon.   


The ladies were thrilled to see me.  

I bring them treats often, in order to perpetuate my delusion that they're thrilled to see me --- I usually bring something like a melon rind or a tomato, which is really what they're thrilled to see.
   
The girls charged greedily toward my offering, then screeched to a halt.  Spunky little Daisy snatched up the hornworm and ran away with it -- she took it to the far end of the yard, put it down, took a good look at it, then picked it up and brought it right back to me.  

Other than that, everybody just stood and stared.


I mean, they didn't even take a nibble.  I thought they'd be fighting over it - like they would if it were a worm or a slug or a beetle.  What was the difference here?  The size?  The row of eyeballs?


Offended by their lack of enthusiasm for this awesome gift, I left the girls staring at the hornworm and went back inside to post my photo of the ghastly creature on Facebook where I felt sure it would be appreciated for its enormity and beautiful freakiness.  Facebook Friends immediately responded, agreeing that it is a terrible menace in the garden.
Another friend, however, explained that it is the larva of a Hummingbird Moth, 

which happens to be one of my absolute favorite bugs.
   
Suddenly, I loved that caterpillar.  


I snapped my laptop shut and sprinted back out to the coop, hoping I wasn't too late for a valiant rescue.  The ladies were dust bathing in the shade at the far end of the run, and I found the caterpillar right where I'd left it, all its eyeballs still intact and glaring at me.  
I picked it up, dusted it off and returned it to the vegetable garden.
   
This morning I went out to check up on the caterpillar and found it joyfully defoliating another treasured tomato plant, none the worse for its adventure with the girls.

Then I took a melon rind treat to my adoring little hens.