The first!

Out of our three hens -- Portia, Ellen and Red, our little Miss Red has taken a gold medal in egg laying, even if her first egg doesn't look much like anything you'd find in the market (super OR farmers).  It actually looks like a tube of liquid make-up I bought a long time ago, even down the the color.  Anyway, of all my hens, Red is by far the tamest, with the most personality.  If she's not petted enough, she won't hesitate to pack at my ankles.  In the mornings she squawks the most to be allowed to free-range around the yard.  She Da Man.  Or Da Head Hen.

So this morning, when she got the undeniable feeling that something strange was going on deep inside her, she showed up outside the window to our library, looking in at me and squawking plaintively. Poor thing.  She was clearly saying, "What in the HELL is going on with me?  Help!"  An woman who has ever been in labor understands this.  It's the universal language of birth. So I went outside to help. I opened up the chicken coop for her, picked her up and said a few gentle encouraging words to her, scratched her waddle (which she loves) and set her down. Immediately she ran upstairs to the actual coop and nesting boxes and deposited her achievement.  She then ran back down the ramp and squawked for another 15 minutes or so, before getting back to her usual, bossy, lovable self.

The start of fresh egg season is huge to us, because owning our own flock was one of the reasons we bought country property.  Thanks, Red!