Here’s another chicken tale, though not a funny one.
One of my chickens, Buffy, was a brooding hen, meaning she would sit on her eggs and try to hatch them. If you attempted to take the eggs from her, she would puff up her already fluffy yellow feathers and make this sound deep in her throat that almost sounded like a growl.
Most of the time, I could successfully get her eggs away from her, but she would be upset about it all day. We started noticing that there was blood in the yolks, indicating that they were, indeed, fertilized.
I decided to let Buffy go ahead and brood with one clutch. She sat on those eggs for three weeks and then they hatched! I couldn’t have been prouder. I think there were about five eggs that she sat on, and three of them hatched. One of them was red like Bruce, the Rhode Island Red rooster and two of them looked like two legged chipmunks with stripes down their backs, like Mr. Butler, the Araucana rooster did when he was a baby. They were so cute and fluffy.
I didn’t want the babies to fall out of the nesting box, which was raised up off the floor of the coop by about 16 inches, so Dad and I moved her out of the coop and into the old garage next door. We made a giant pile of loose hay and surrounded it with a tall fence of chicken wire. Buffy and babies settled in and seemed very comfortable. I loved sitting next to the wire fence, watching her take care of them. She would almost purr at them sometimes.
One night, probably around midnight, my sister came into my room and woke me up. She said she could hear noises coming from the chicken coop. I jumped out of bed and raced outside in my pajamas. I could hear an awful fight going on in the garage. With my heart in my throat, I made it to the door. Flipping on the light, panic took over.
There was Buffy, screaming as only a chicken can. Her wings were spread wide and all the feathers on her neck were gone. She was feinting and flapping her wings with all her might against a skunk! The skunk would back up, then grab for her neck. I started yelling and banging on the garage doors, trying to scare the skunk away. He didn’t even acknowledge my presence. He was focused on getting a chicken dinner.
Sobbing hysterically, I ran back to the house for Dad. He had the presence of mind to at least throw a shirt and jeans on before grabbing a rifle and following me back outside. I stayed in the yard as he quickly dispatched the predator. When he came out dragging that black and white villain, I rushed in to see the damage. There were broken egg shells strewn about. Two of the chicks lay dead in the hay. Buffy sat there, beak open, chest heaving. I gently lifted her up and found one of the striped chicks had survived.
We moved her and that baby back into the coop and I never let her brood again. I still can’t think about that night without having my heart in my throat.