But the fact that fifty other hens around town are also laying less has had an immediate effect on me. 

I decided to lay off. 

It is as if the blame has dissipated. I cannot possibly be responsible for a lack of eggs at my neighbor's coop, so it suddenly seems feasible that I am not at fault for the absence at home. Furthermore, if the Brahmas and Buff Orpingtons half a mile away are leaving their nesting boxes empty it seems likely the same cause is leaving my hens barren. Perhaps it is just how it goes with hens. Maybe it is nobody's fault.

When I let the girls out today I sang to them, and gave them extra cuddles. My annoyance seemed unnecessary, and I chose to enjoy them regardless of breakfast. 

Last month a woman was complaining to me about her husband. She said he never bought gifts for their kids at Christmas or birthdays, and she was ticked. It was up to her to make the cake, wrap the presents, cook the meal and decorate the tree. After a prolonged pause I said that was the case at our house too, and I believed it was common if not almost universal. She looked as if her indignation had lost its zip.

When John and I went to a talk at a marriage conference the speaker invited the entire audience to repeat his instructions. 

"Don't try to fix it. Just listen." He suggested that it is an inborn tendency in men to try to solve their spouse's problems, rather than simply allow them to talk about it. Something shifted in me that night. Knowing that John was like thousands of other men we have never met, made blame seem irrelevant. It is not that he is ignoring what I want, and neither am I too demanding. It is merely the dynamic that shows up on a regular basis between husbands and wives. 

Since that evening I have found it easier to lay off. When a whole flock of people are experiencing the same struggle, it seems like less of a flaw and more of reflection of the human experience. 

Maybe it is nobody's fault.