I wrote recently about the passing of Sergeant Major. This little golden phoenix hen was one of his ladies. The day after Sergeant Major passed away from old age, his son, Golden Boy disappeared. Based upon the loud bang near the tree he shared with Sergeant Major and the ladies, we believe the cat we have been running off got him.
We have been a bit more tolerant of the ladies who want to be broody hens since then. They have about a week of fertility from him, so whatever they laid and wanted to sit on in the week of County Fair, we have allowed them to continue to nest.
This little hen, however, seems to have not completely thought through her choice of a nesting spot. She chose to nest in a flower pot. I keep asking her each time I pass by, "How on Earth do you plan to raise babies in a tiny pot barely large enough for your own rear end?" She however, just stares at me. She is not at all phased. I suppose that is the promised and optimism of motherhood. Guess I will just keep my fingers crossed for her and move her when the babies are born. Can't blame a girl for trying, right?
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