KK, glad it brought you some fond memories. Sjoerd, There are hens that are "broodier" than others. Most of my laying hens aren't the type to sit on a clutch of eggs in the Spring, but the "heritage" type tend to decide it's time to hatch a clutch of eggs. I will liken it to a swarm...there is an inbred desire to perpetuate life. no way to really discourage it from starting, but if you distress her it will break the intention. I have heard to run a fan towards a broody hen, they don't like the air movement. I had a hen last year who had a clutch of all blue eggs under a bush near the house, so in order to protect her and them, I thought I would move them to a corner of the closed off section of the chicken coop. She wanted NOTHING to do with being moved and would not sit on them there, so moved her back outside the next day and she was as happy as a pig in mud.the next night something ate all her eggs and she went back to being a regular hen. When gathering eggs I usually slide my hand under the hen and just take the eggs, but these three have been sitting in the same boxes for two days now. So, last night I took the eggs (again) and then I pulled them out of the boxes and sat them elsewhere. I do have one hen who will draw blood...mean old biddy. I went to get eggs from the bottom row one day and she was on the top row...she reached out of the box to get me, narrowly missed hitting my eyeball, she got my cheek bone instead. So, I do have to watch for her, but she growls and warns, so I can pick her out of all the other hens who look like her. I almost rung her neck one day. She is mean! but, I refrained since she lays an egg and that is her job.
I really enjoyed reading your posting, C. I see how it goes. Much like at my grandfather's. It seems like by every chook situation, there is always at least one mean-o. My grandfather had a very mean rooster once. A violent and sometimes unpredictable tendency to attack and maim. he would jump up chest high at my g'father when he would take a hen for eating. He began to jump up at me when I would go to feed the chooks or take eggs (he came up head high on me at that time). That was the last straw for my grandparents (they were overly protective a little). See, the thing was that this rooster had barbs, or spurs on the backs of his legs which he would use to try and cut a person open. He did manage to get my g'father a time or two, in fact. That bad dude took to attacking everyone that came in his view at one point. One morning I came back from the barn after doing chores and there hung the rooster by his legs, with a length of hemp bailing twine. My grandfather stood there with a butcher knife and my g'mother was standing by. I instantly knew what was going on and asked my g'father if he wanted me to do it. He looked at me in the most peculiar way ...looked at my grandmother and then looked back at me and told me to go inside that I could learn how to do these sorts of things when I was older. (more protection, I suppose). I could see that my willingness was surprising to him (because of my age, I think). Ach, but I saw it as just another farm chore that had to be done. Well, I went on inside, as my grandfather was not someone that would tell you twice to so something. Did you know that roosters can be eaten if prepared correctly? The meat is not too stringy and fibrous at all.
I haven't eaten any of the layers or roosters,yet. Maybe someday I will do it, but usually I raise broilers for the table. They are fast birds from egg to butcher, only 8 weeks to a 6-8 lb bird (dressed). How did your gm prepare for the table that it wasn't tough? if you can remember that long ago . I probably never would know how my grandma cooked if I hadn't lived with her for a couple years. I did the cooking under her instruction.
How my grandmother prepared the rooster? Man, I don't know that...don't you know that real boys don't hang-about in kitchens with the women!? ROARRRR. I saw that you were taking the Mickey (...and with that innocent mug)...Tch! What are you like. :-? Well, you were correct that it was a while ago...a loooooooonnnnng while ago. Heck, I was only 5 or 6 at the time.
Well, I spent no time in the kitchen with my grandma. One was sick and the other didn't have a very big kitchen, so none of us spent time there, but, yum, could she cook. I just happened to figure out by trial and error her mashed potatoes "recipe". I loved her wilted lettuce. Most people have no idea you can "cook" lettuce, but hers was a fabulous bacon grease, flour, vinegar, water and a little sugar to make a thick sauce to pour over the lettuce/greens and crumbled bacon. I don't make it for my family since K doesn't like vinegar, but it was yummy, too I was fortunate enough to have my grams until I was 35ish. so I could ask all kinds of questions until she wasn't capable of repeating her memory recipes. too bad for you that you didn't have her, too. huh? "Taking the mickey", I have never heard this term, and I had to look it up.. the first few defs, I am thinking you didn't mean, but the teasing, yeah! PSST...BTW real boys who like to eat do manage to find their way to the kitchen eventually. mine even go to the grocery store and buy groceries. Glory!
Never heard that term?! Isn't it an english expression. Oh, hang on--perhaps it is british. That's possible. Anyway..."teasing", yes, that's how I meant it. Oh, I found my way to the kitchen alright, just not when the womenfolk were present. I made my little raids. One time I was heading for some gravel cookies that my g'mother made. (mercy me, they were delicious). All the adults were out in the living room chatting and occupied with eachother. I saw my chance to raid that cookie tin. Only problem was that it was too high up on that cupboard for me to reach. I realised that I would have to be fasst now because the grown-ups could come in at any moment...nothing for it but to climb up that cupboard. I used the planks like the rungs of a ladder. About half way or more up, I felt the cupboard begin to totter. In the blink of an eye the feeling went from a subtle awareness of top-heavy movement to what could be called, "pitching". That cupboard pitched forward and crashed down, pinning me underneath. I tasted syrup... and salt. I was covered with flower and the pepper tin had opened. I began to cry out for help, but instead of a "help", there was more of a "he-chooo"! By this time they had arrived and I could hear my g'mother call out to my mom...A-choo! The men arrived after being called and lifted that heavy cupboard off me and my uncle drug me out, saying "euwwwwwww", in a mocking tone. Apparently the cream pitcher had turned over too, as it was all over my head and dripping trails down across my powdery face. The incident remains in my memory to this day , but what even more "traumatic" was the bathing. Of course I had to bathe with all that food over me. My grandparents were not rich and they lived way out away from civilization and had no indoor plumbing...that meant a large galvanized tub with water in it (tepid...as punishment, no doubt)), and I could shuck off all my clothing and stand outside in the closing hours of a november day and bathe. It was a tremendously icy experience (thanks to the persistent wind) that made a serious impression on me. I am only glad that the rooster was not present.
