Speaking of chickens, the other day a few headless ones appeared on a street near my house. Now, this is Miami, so chickens tossed in front of your house means that you have been cursed. Was it the Cuban Santeria or the Haitian Voodoo? The chickens didn’t live to tell.
In our backyard, 1 of the 4 chickens has recently endured almost as traumatic an event. I call her Baby Momma, because she’s the first of the two hens we’re raising that has laid eggs. At first, Baby Momma refused to lay her eggs in the coop’s incubation condos. So, she dug her own nest near a secluded corner of the house, deposited about 8 eggs, 1 per day, and finally decided it was time to brood.
The day I discovered her setting was thrilling, but I was concerned about her being exposed at night. But one night couldn’t hurt, right?
Wrong. Something wicked came in the night and bashed her eggs and scared Baby Momma. She survived intact and only with a minor cut on one leg. My best guess at the intruder is a possum, but I’m not sure. Whatever it was, it left four of the eggs cracked but not eaten. Maybe the possums are practicing portion control.
Now Baby Momma is locked in the coop with a few leftover fertilized eggs, but she is too agitated to set. Poor Baby Momma: I’m sorry we tried to count those eggs before they hatched.