For the past two months, our chicken Isabella has taken a vacation from egg-laying. She's apparently in perfect health. She's not under any particular stress, occupying a middle position in the pecking order. We think she just couldn't be bothered.
And then out of nowhere, she laid the tiniest, greenest egg imaginable. (Do you see it, in the middle of the plate?) After that, she was back in business. She's laid a large pale greeny-blue egg every day since then.
It seems as if the tiny egg had as much pigmentation as her regular eggs. I imagined it as an egg-balloon, and thought that if I could inflate that egg, it would be the same color as all her other eggs.
Both Robb and I concluded that Isabella was on a Fruit Strike, and refused to lay any eggs until the heavens opened up, and started raining plums. She's seriously in Chicken Heaven, right now. Our back garden is littered with squashed eaten-out plum skins. For a chicken as crazy for fruit as Isabella, this must be the best life imaginable.