Like all animals, chickens can be mystifying creatures. I was reminded of this recently when I found two of our hens - Barred Rock Nala and Rhode Island Red Nellie - quietly sharing a nest box as they went about the business of laying their eggs.
I’ve seen this sort of thing before, from time to time, and it’s baffling for two reasons. First of all, the nest box in question is quite small . . . really only big enough to hold one hen comfortably. Yet there they were, Nala and Nellie, peacefully nuzzled, side by side, wing to wing, seemingly indifferent to how silly (and endearing) two full-grown hens look when they are trying to inhabit the same tiny space.
I’ve seen this sort of thing before, from time to time, and it’s baffling for two reasons. First of all, the nest box in question is quite small . . . really only big enough to hold one hen comfortably. Yet there they were, Nala and Nellie, peacefully nuzzled, side by side, wing to wing, seemingly indifferent to how silly (and endearing) two full-grown hens look when they are trying to inhabit the same tiny space.
The other reason this is inexplicable behavior: there are two nest boxes in our coop. And the other nest box is twice as big as the one Nala and Nellie had jammed themselves into. For whatever reason, none of our four hens ever lay their eggs in that larger nest box. Maybe they view it as too spacious, or perhaps they’re just such creatures of habit that they are unwilling to try something new.
The upside is that I know exactly where to look in my quest for fresh eggs. If you're a hen - or, more precisely, one of our hens - that tiny cubicle in a corner of the coop has proven to be the place to go when the urge strikes. Accept no substitutes.
The upside is that I know exactly where to look in my quest for fresh eggs. If you're a hen - or, more precisely, one of our hens - that tiny cubicle in a corner of the coop has proven to be the place to go when the urge strikes. Accept no substitutes.
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