It's winter. The days are short, and the chickens have stopped laying eggs. This is perfectly normal. Most animals' reproductive cycles are tied to the seasons. Babies are born when there's the most food to be had. There's really no point in trying to have a little family, if you're all going to starve to death in the middle of winter.
Even our domesticated chickens follow this cycle. Our chickies are all on winter vacation. They've quit laying. Their combs aren't brightly colored. They've stopped acting like Robb and I are Potential Roosters, with whom they might enjoy a bit of Chicken Nookie.
It's really weird, but chickens will assume a "breeding pose" for just about anyone. They get this "oh gawd, just get it over with" look on their faces, and assume a squatting position directly in our path. Roosters must love this. Robb and I, on the other hand, find it all rather unsettling.
During the winter, our chickens ignore us. We're Food Dispensers at best.
Until this weekend, when Anne Elliott suddenly decided to start squatting for me. On Monday, for the first time since September, she laid an egg. And on Wednesday, she laid another.
Which she promptly pecked open.
Anne Elliott is a royal pain in the ass and a bird-brain.