Editor’s Note: This is Part Nine of our ongoing series about theteet’s foray into the world of the chicken farmer. Descriptions are graphic.
last night, as seth and i were cleaning our Back-Room-Turned-(GRRRR!)-Woodshop, we found a perfect brown egg nestled in a pile of sawdust.
ummm … i barely understand why a tablesaw is in our home. how did a chicken egg get in there again?
apparently the previous evening, Maybel TC came running into the house when we left the door open a crack. i guess when a girl’s gotta go, a girl’s gotta go.
we found two more eggs in a box full of sawdust on the backporch. she must find comfort in hickory shavings.
sadly, Maybel TC has become very much like the first girl in junior high to get boobs. every 10 minutes, Mary Ann Krauss (known in some social circles as “Balls,”) will chase her down and have sex with her in front of all the other chickens. those are those most fertilized eggs this side of the mason-dixon.
but the good news is that as long as the eggs are put into the refrigerator the day they’re laid, we won’t get (recognizable) baby chicks in our omelets. we’ll just have the scrambled placenta, thanks, which is much less gross in our culture for some reason.
the lesson here is that we are bad chicken parents for not providing our pubescent chickens with a warm, dark place to lay their eggs. now they’ve resorted to scouting sawdust piles, banking on the opportunity to run into the house for a quick lay. realizing this, we built four small boxes with nests and put them in the hen house last night.
i just hope they learn to use them.
i saw Maybel TC eyeing some sawdust in the compost pile earlier this morning.
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