Though I had planned not to allow any of my hens to hatch out chicks this year, I quickly learned that I cannot thwart mother nature. After spending the spring breaking up one nest after another, I finally gave up. Marge, the hen who raised a clutch last year, slyly began to lay eggs again in a secluded corner of the goat pen behind a large piece of plywood. Yet another Buff Orpington ("Buffy") refused to leave the nest boxes; she just kept moving from one pile of eggs to another during the day. Two banty hens employed the same strategy. All in all, my efforts to unwind the biological clocks of these stalwart wanna-be mothers were in vain. Yesterday, I began to see the fruits of these randy brooders as I watched one little fuzz ball after another emerge from its shell. Now, though I have no idea what I am going to do with all these "little diddles," I can't help but joyfully muse at the miracle of life.
