It's freaking Birdland over here today. It's gray and cloudy and drizzly but the chickens and ducks are living their lives and not giving a fuck about the weather. There's Dovie and Lily and Willy. I think Dovie may be laying small brown eggs. Not sure if they are hers but they might be. I think Miss Camellia's laying days are done. Speaking of which, Mabel is in the hen house, standing on the perch right beside a nest cackling like she's just laid fifteen eggs and I don't think that hen has laid an egg in six months. What the hell is she talking about?
Have you EVER seen such a chicken? Hank says we should call him "Spare Parts." I think Hank is right. He does look like a bird built with leftover parts from various breeds and birds. I am developing a great affection for him. He is incredibly tame.
And I suppose the purpose of keeping birds is for the eggs. Right? But holy mother. I'm drowning in eggs.
There's the eggs collected since Friday, minus the four I poached for our supper last night.
Children? Do you need eggs?
Oh hell. Now Nicey is out there yelling about having laid HER egg.
I think I might go into the egg salad business. Ms. Moon's Tasty Egg Salad.
I really do not like egg salad.
Okay. Elvis has gone to collect Nicey and take her back to the flock. As overwhelmed as I am feeling with eggs, Elvis must be feeling that much more overwhelmed with his escort and protection services.
The boys will be here soon.