Feather Your Nest
"Daddy!" Virtue cried with glee, "I'm all ready for chores."
"I'm glad to see that my little lady is well this morning," he said drawing Virtue into his strong arms. "And, yes, it is time to go take faithful care of your chickens. I have already heard Sir Hackles making a fuss."
Virtue giggled. Sir Hackles was an old, fussy rooster that often caused her trouble. One time Sir Hackles even chased her around the house though, thankfully, Mommy had heard Virtue's cries and shooed him back into his yard with her broom. However, there rested a healthy fear of Daddy in Sir Hackles.As they went down the stairs , they picked up their flashlights and their warm coats. It was still dark outside and a little cold; the weather station on the back porch read 38 degrees Fahrenheit. With the flashlight lighting up the path to the hen house, they soon arrived and were greeted with clucks and squawks, chirps and crows.
Virtue filled the feeders and waters and ascertained that the nesting boxes were clean. It was then that she noticed one hen remained in the nesting boxes while the others consumed the feed. Upon closer examination, Virtue noticed many feathers in the nesting box.
"Daddy, I think this hen might be sick." she said.
"No, Dear, this hen appears to have gone broody. The straw and feathers will make a soft nest for all those eggs to incubate and then hatch," he explained.This was Virtue's first flock of chickens, so she had much to learn; she was thankful her father was so knowledgeable about fowl.
"Oh, you're a nice mama hen," Virtue cooed. "My mommy doesn't put feathers in my bed, but she does spread soft covers on my bed! You are like my mommy; she always knows what I really need. Goodbye hens! Enjoy your breakfast."
Sir Hackles was the only one who replied.
