Hen Chronicles: The reluctant layer goes on strike . . . again

Keeping chickens is fun . . . except when it isn’t.

Our three hens — Snow, Hope and Nellie — have been laying well of late, often producing three eggs per day, which is the poultry equivalent of a factory running at full capacity. At one point recently, each of them laid an egg a day for four days straight.

In the world of backyard chickens, it doesn’t get any better than that.

But it can, and did, get worse.

We retrieved three eggs last Saturday and three more on Sunday, but only two eggs per day on Monday and Tuesday. The hens do take well-earned breaks, but usually for no more than a day at a time. It was clear Monday and Tuesday that one chicken in particular had stopped laying. The eggs that we found in the nest box on those two days were too small to have been laid by Snow, our Plymouth Rock and the oldest of our hens.

Snow had shut down production.

We didn’t give it a second thought when Snow scratched and pecked and ate and clucked her way through the day sans egg on Monday. I’ve read that a hen will lay a clutch of eggs — that is, an egg a day for several consecutive days — then skip a day or more before starting another clutch. But Tuesday’s follow-up no-show in the egg department left us somewhat concerned, because of Snow’s history. 

Snow became egg-bound at one point last summer. This is a potentially life-threatening condition in which a hen has formed an egg but is unable to release it, making her listless. We solved the problem that time by applying a lubricant in her nether regions and following up with a warm, soapy bath in Dawn dishwashing liquid. (Surprisingly, hens tolerate baths quite well.) After a warm-water rinse, we encouraged her to walk around the yard. Sure enough, the lethargic Snow soon laid an egg, and instantly perked right up.

Needless to say, I’d prefer not to go through that process again, largely because there’s no guarantee it will work.

So Wednesday was a big day. No egg three days running might mean Snow was egg-bound once again, or showing early signs of disease.

Snow acted normally when I released the hens from the coop at dawn on Wednesday, which was a good sign. Later that morning she went into the nest box, where she stayed put for a long time. The hens often lay their eggs in the morning and always in the nest box, so we knew that Snow’s seclusion meant she was trying to get down to business.

I checked in on her once, then left her alone. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally popped back down into the pen. But that did not answer the big question: had she accomplished anything during her retreat? I’ve seen hens hang out in the nest box for quite some time, only to get up and walk away without leaving anything behind.

So I held my breath as I walked out to the coop and lifted the lid that covers the nest box. There, nestled in the pine shavings, was an egg. A warm egg. A very large egg.

Snow’s egg. 

Equilibrium had returned to our little flock. At least for the time being.
  

The reluctant layer