BUDUP

...continued from the previous post, BROODY LUCY

 Lucy continued to sit faithfully on her eggs and chant, 'budup".    While I'd read that a broody hen hops off the nest once or twice a day to get some food and to stretch her legs, Lucy wasn't able to get up.  The lack of movement weakened her twisted toes, and she just couldn't lift herself.  So a couple of times a day I helped Lucy off the nest.  I'd hold her for a bit until her legs stretched out and she could stand on her own.

She'd gulp down her food and guzzle some water, then she'd expel the most revolting poop, and then hobble about for a little while pecking at grass and enjoying her brief time outdoors. 
This was the moment Hatsy waited for.

 She'd make a beeline for the open door of Lucy's coop.  

She'd step gingerly inside and  utter a few sweet words to the precious eggs.

Then she'd scoot them around a bit with her beak and try to sit on them.  
She tried, but never did master the art of egg-sitting.

  One of the eggs would inevitably pop out from under her.

When Lucy returned to her nest, all it took was a look from Lucy to get Auntie Hatsy off the eggs.

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Although  we knew that only one of those eggs was fertile, I didn't want to cause Lucy any distress by removing the infertile one. I saw no harm in leaving it in the nest...

....until one night while cruising the chicken-websites, I read that a bad egg left in the nest could actually explode.  I grabbed a flashlight and scurried right out to Lucy's coop and removed the festering time bomb. 

She never missed it. I guess chickens can't count.

Lucy sat and sat - chanting  budup - budup - budup - day in and day out. 

Lil'White was only mildly interested in Lucy's business, while Hatsy's curiosity verged on obsession. 

At times Lucy appeared a bit annoyed with her little red friend.

  

.  .  .  .  .  .coming next:  A HARROWING MORNING

Broody Lucy

Trish unlatched the door to her henhouse and I followed her inside.  There were two lovely hens sitting in the nesting boxes.  Trish reached under the fluffy Rhode Island Red and pulled out two warm brown eggs.  The hen didn't really seem to notice.  Trish handed me the eggs and I slipped them into my coat pocket and then hurried home.

The eggs were still plenty warm when I presented them to Lucy.

  

With a calm matter-of-factness, she lifted herself slightly and then gently guided the eggs with her beak to just the right spot underneath her. Then she sat down. 

That was it. No 'thank you', no nothing.  

But that was okay.

The next day I let Lucy stay on the nest rather than booting her out onto the sunny lawn with the girls.   Hatsy and Lil'White sensed that something was up, and they curiously milled about Lucy's coop.

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Candling:

After seven days you're supposed to be able to see the beginnings of a chick in the egg by shining a flashlight behind it.    

Of course I couldn't wait seven days...  So on the fifth night Sarah and I went out and collected our precious eggs from under Lucy and brought them inside. We had to act swiftly, so as not to let the eggs cool too much.  We sat on the basement steps in total darkness fumbling with flashlights and eggs. 

One egg was definitely not happening.  

But in the other egg was very certainly a web of veins.  I used a pen to draw a mark on the fertile egg so we could tell them apart, then returned them both to Lucy's  little coop.  I tucked the eggs under her wonderful fluff.   Budup   budup   budup   --- what a nice sound out there in the dark warm night.

Thirteen days to go.

.  .  .  .  .  .  next entry:  BUDUP