Years ago I was sent this little story of childhood reflections from two young girls who lived on a little farm. I’ll share the gist of it.

The little girls had the chore of gathering eggs from the small chicken yard. Certain times of the year the task became harder when each afternoon caused a huge crisis. Figuring how to steal eggs from the setting hens without getting pecked took lots of thought and planning. The girls learned if they made enough noise and scared the chickens, they would leave their nests; however, it could be quite an ordeal...until the next day when the task would begin again.

Their plan of action involved throwing rocks and sticks from the hen house door to their nests. The female fowl sat on their eggs like their lives depended on it. The seemed glued to the straw that lined the small cubicles. The girls yelled and screamed at them as they threw the small bombs.

If their first efforts were successful, they could finish their task; however, when the first ammunition round wouldn’t budge the feathery ‘wanna-be-moms’, the girls went into their next plan of action. They walked around to the side of the old metal chicken house where the nests were located inside and slammed and banged with their hands as hard as they could. Then, they did another round of harassment with yelling and screaming. No hen should have been able to withstand all that commotion and stay put--we thought.

By this time, all that noise was getting the attention of the cats, who came to investigate. Then their attentive dog arrived to bark as loud as he could while running circles around the chicken pen. All the chickens were excited and cackling. It seemed like a real mess!

The cows in the lot next to the pen were the only ones unaffected by the madness as the girls kept banging and hollering. The cows just watched and chewed their cuds. They didn’t understand that there was intense warfare going on, and the girls wouldn’t quit until there was victory.

If the second ‘chicken war’ strategy worked, they would wait for the stubborn fowl to leave the nests. and go inside to collect the eggs. Then, the noise would stop and their task was done. If it didn’t work, then sheer bravery was needed.

So, the girls would have to pick up sticks dropped from a nearby big cottonwood tree. They would commence to walk inside, armed and dangerous! They would have to stand as far away from the nests as possible to poke and gouge with their wooden weapons. Most of the time it would finally work, and the lady Leghorns would jump down from their nests. If not, there was one more option....

The brooder house was like a chicken jail. If it became impossible for the girls to get the hens out, the hens would have to serve time there. The girls’ mother were called to the rescue. She would pick up the hens from their nests and carry them by their feet to the tiny house. All the girls could hear was loud cackling and squawking as the fowl flopped all the way there. The girls took feed and water to them daily until the hens got ‘egg settin’ out of their systems. When the hens seemed be ready to behave themselves, they got to join the rest of the flock. How did they know the chickens were ready? The girls noticed the hens would stop making clucking sounds and would start sounding like regular chickens again.

Years later, the girls’ parents tore the old chicken house down. The girls were grown and married. When they came back once, their mom told them that they had found many rocks and sticks scattered inside that old building and just wondered why they were there and how they got there. The young women just raised their eyebrows as if they had no idea.

I thought readers may enjoy this since egg prices are soaring and they may consider getting their own chickens, like several of my acquaintances have. However, it would be smart to consider doing research on their care as well as protect them from coyotes, hawks, and such.

Have a good week and enjoy the evidences of a welcoming Spring.