I'm a Chicken Lady...

I’m a chicken lady. We moved out to the country a few years back so our kids could be feral, woodland kids, we could enjoy the peace and quiet of country living, and so I could be surrounded by farm animals. It’s a dream, truly, and I’m so grateful for each new experience out here in the country. Every day is a learning adventure, a lesson in what some sweat and elbow grease provides, and space and time to make so many memories outdoors with my sweet children. 

We’ve been making some great memories lately too. This spring, we added to our flock and brought home some baby chicks. We raised them in the brooder right in our house, and at the beginning of the summer it was time to move them outside into the coop. We’ve never integrated an established flock with newbies before so it was a learning experience. Turns out, just throwing the littles in there and hoping for the best is not the right move. I’ll spare you the details, but one of our sweet babies (who wasn’t actually very little anymore) had to be brought back inside to recover from that “adventure” for a couple weeks and heal. 

The days went on as we tried to integrate these two groups of chickens and most of them were doing quite well warming up to each other…except for Cutie. She was our smallest chicken in the established flock, but she was the meanest. She hated these new chicks and could not be trusted alone with them. I reached out to other chicken tenders (see what I did there?) for advice and many of them suggested I kick Cutie out of the run and coop for a bit. It’s a whole pecking order/dominance thing and not worth explaining…this isn’t a chicken advice column. The point is, we were getting ready to leave for vacation, I couldn’t keep chickens in my house while we were gone, I didn’t want them all roaming free with us out of town for a week, and I needed these new little chickens to get into our coop and run safely. 

I kicked Cutie out. 

And I knew it was a death sentence for her. We’ve got foxes, bears, coyotes, and hawks all around here. She wouldn’t make it on her own without shelter, consistent food and water sources, the safety of the flock…I was kicking her out to die, most likely.

Was I really that heartless? 

Yes. Yes, I was.

I told my husband, “I don’t care what happens to her when we’re gone! She is a menace and not big enough to eat so she can fight for her life and see how she likes it after what she did to our baby chicks!”

Don’t judge me. The story isn’t over.

We left for vacation and Cutie was circling the coop and run trying to find a way back in. The babies were safely in the coop, unbothered by the older hens and our rooster. Everyone was fine. But Cutie was panicking. We backed out of the drive and I didn’t even think of her again until we got home.

We arrived home a week later in the evening. I went out to make sure the chickens were still doing well only to see a little black hen pecking the ground right near the coop. 

It was CUTIE! She was alive…and somehow looking healthier than ever. 

Hmph. "Well, she seems to be doing fine on her own. I’ll leave her."

We left to go visit family a couple days later for another week. Cutie obviously could do quite well on her own. She’s a tough, old bird. Her menacing ways worked well for her out in the wilderness alone. She’d be fine. I was sure. 

A week later, we returned from our long road trip and I sent my oldest son out to check on the chickens as soon as we arrived. “Cutie is here!” I rolled my eyes. Of course she was.

A few days later, I decided it was time to let her back in with the flock. She had been separated long enough, my wrath was quenched, my children were pleading…I wanted her eggs again. I went outside to catch her and put her back in only to find she was missing. “Probably off finding something to eat,” I thought to myself. “I’ll try again tomorrow.”

Tomorrow came and went without a sign of Cutie’s whereabouts. Then the next day, then the next, and the next. Wow! She was on her own for two weeks without us around and she survives…no she thrives! Then we get home, I agree to let her go back into the safety of the coop and the flock, and she offs herself?! She gets snagged by a hawk or fox? She gets lost? She joins another flock? I have no idea what happened to this bird, but she was gone without a trace.

That is, until about two weeks ago. My son was outside watering the garden and filling up the water jugs for the chickens when he came tearing into the house. “Mom! I found Cutie!” “Oh cool. Catch her and put her back in the coop. Maybe she learned her lesson and is ready to rejoin everyone.” “No…mom! You’ll never believe this! She’s sitting on four eggs!”

I walked outside to see where she was hiding and to get a look at her clutch of eggs. She was tucked in a tuft of grass on the side of the house…this whole time? I moved her to see how many eggs she had under her. It was FOURTEEN! 

THIS CHICKEN HAD BEEN HIDING FOR TWO WEEKS! SHE WAS TRYING TO HAVE BABIES! 

My mean, old Cutie wanted to be a mama! 

This new discovery turned into writing lesson plans on the anatomy of an egg, how chickens develop, calling friends to see if they wanted fourteen new chicks (because I sure didn’t), and planning to set the brooder up again. Those eggs were due to hatch over the weekend, I figured. We’d have baby chicks really soon! 

The weekend came and went and no babies arrived. Maybe my math was off? We waited a few more days and still…no babies. I started to get suspicious. Had the babies died before they hatched? Or maybe they weren’t fertilized eggs like I thought they were. I went out and carefully removed a few eggs from underneath her to inspect them.

They STUNK. One of her eggs was already cracked so I decided to walk down the gravel road, far away from the house, and open it to see if a dead chick was inside or if it was just an empty, rotten egg. 

I took a deep breath, felt a wash of worry that I was going to inadvertently kill a baby chick, and then resolved to just break the egg open anyway, ready to ask forgiveness if I unalived a little chick. Thankfully, it was just a plain, old, no-baby-chick, rotten egg. I went back to Cutie's clutch and checked a few more eggs…all rotten. All empty. 

This poor chicken wanted to be a mama so badly, but she was sitting on over a dozen rotten eggs waiting for a day that would never come. We removed all of her eggs and moved her back into the coop. She was anxious and angry, all fluffed up and pacing while staring at the side of the house where she had hidden her make-shift nest. Her dreams of being a little chickie mama were dashed. Reality was hitting this fluffy hen pretty hard. 

I got to thinking…how many times have I been holding on to a dream of mine for dear life, trying my hardest to make it happen, only to have a reality check hit me suddenly: this is not God’s dream for me. I need to let it go. 

Cutie sat on those eggs faithfully. She kept them warm, rotated them carefully, and only left to eat and drink once a day at most. She attacked anyone and anything that may have threatened the safety of those eggs. She was willing to sit there and wait and wait and wait. And she was heartbroken when we made her move and took her eggs from her. 

I’ve been heartbroken by God’s “no” before. I wanted those eggs I was sitting on, rotating, keeping warm, caring for, looking after, defending, protecting, loving. I wanted that dream, I worked for that dream, and still God said, “Those are rotten, hunny.”

And just like Cutie, I paced. I fluffed my feathers. I mourned the loss of what I thought should be. But here’s the thing: no matter how much love, protection, or faithfulness you pour into something that isn’t alive with God’s Spirit, it will never hatch.

Sometimes God’s greatest mercy is in removing the rotten eggs from under us. He loves us too much to let us waste our lives sitting on what will never bring life. But sis, His “no” is not rejection. It’s redirection toward a better “yes”. 

Maybe you’ve been there too—mourning a dream you thought was good, only to find out it wasn’t God’s best. Can I encourage you? Lay it down. Let Him take it. Trust that His plans aren’t just different; they’re better.

Because while Cutie sat on rotten eggs alone and exposed to danger, the rest of my flock was thriving, growing, sheltered, protected, and producing real fruit. And so it is with us: when we release what’s dead, we make room to embrace what God is actually breathing life into.

So friend, don’t waste your days warming rotten eggs. Let go. Trust His “no.” And watch Him lead you to the dream that will actually bring new life.