Princess (c. January 2012 – August 20, 2012)
When I introduced you to our seven new chickens in late May, I posted that Princess Layer
(named by Gordon) “is the most elegant looking of the rookies, and she knows it . . . she has
a strong sense of entitlement. We’ll see how this plays out.”
When I updated you on last Monday’s post, I said that she “has emerged as the star of the
group. Bright, pretty and personable, she is always the first to greet us in the garden.”
She didn’t greet me that morning, actually. She was in a nesting box when I put the girls up
that evening, and still there in the morning. Hopefully, she died peacefully.
Princess was eggbound, a condition we didn’t know about until her death. She was unable
to pass her eggs. A few days before, Jude found a small, misshaped egg, but we don’t know
if it was from her.
Egg binding is fairly common, although one of our neighbours who has raised chickens for
a long time said she’d never seen it in her flock. The egg can be massaged out or broken,
with care taken to remove all the shell parts. If not addressed, binding can cause infection
or internal tissue damage. Or death.
We’ll be alert for this from now on. For now, however, we’ve lost our star. Here she is in
her full glory. What a beauty.
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Anchor Struck 
Too bad about Princess Layer! We kept laying birds for a number of years and had a flock of 75 layers and 40 meat birds, but never once had an eggbound hen. I wonder what causes it?
Overeating is one cause. That’s hard to monitor with our semi-free range birds.
May the Force be with you, Princess.
She’s still with us, Gordie, under the paving stone at the front door of the new greenhouse (story soon).
if the force had been with her it would have shoved that egg out.. who would have thought there were so many ways for chickens to die?
That’s the price they pay for tasting just like chicken.
Oh poor Princess. I am sorry to hear, she was a beauty. It saddens the heart to lose a pet of anykind. I had a cow named Brownie and did not realize at the young age that I was that Brownie was that Roast on Sundays, those hamburgers on the grill or the meat in that massive stew mom had on the stove. When I did find out, I hurt!
RIP Princess.
Thanks for your kind words, Beth. Yesterday Jude and I talked to the woman who sponsored the cheese-making workshop we went to in March. She said she was thinking about a workshop for urban women that would require them to slaughter a chicken. I wouldn’t qualify anyway, but I couldn’t do it. I have to own my hypocrisy on that.