Saturday, I told Chris that we needed to move the broody hen and her clutch of eggs to the chicken tractor that night. We forgot. The next day, I told Chris again, "We have to move the chicken tonight." But by the time I remembered Sunday night, Chris was showered and in his jammies, ready to relax, and I didn't feel like doing it by myself.
Monday evening, I went to check for eggs after the Memorial Day gathering and found the hen off the nest, three eggs missing, and a yolky mess covering the nest and four remaining eggs. I wasn't sure if I should try to clean the eggs to see if they would still hatch, but they didn't feel very warm, and I was feeling discouraged so decided it would be best to dispose of the eggs.
This morning, Finley walked in with an egg in hand and said, "There's something inside this egg. I can hear something when I shake it." Fresh eggs don't make noises, I thought. "Where did you find it?" I asked as I took the egg and shook it. Something was definitely sloshing around in there. "On the floor of the chicken coop." Oh. I could picture the partially developed embryo slapping up against the sides of the egg, and it made me a little sick. "I want to see what's inside." Finley said.
After explaining what I thought had happened, she still wanted to see what was inside the egg. It's funny to me how her curiosity can overcome her sensitive spirit at times. Although I wasn't too keen on seeing its innards, I donned my boots and out we went to crack the egg. The shell broke nicely off the embryonic sac and it took a little effort to tear it open enough to free the tiny little chicken that would have hatched in about a week.
Life is bizarre.
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