Every day, I go to the chicken coop and look for eggs. I have five hens, but only rarely do I have five eggs. Mostly, I get two or three.
So where did the little blue egg come from? Not my chickens, for sure.
The little egg was not near a tree. It was on the edge of the road, on the blacktop. Really odd, so I picked it up.
I wonder about the bird (probably a robin) who left her egg in an inappropriate location.
Usually, I find eggs that were hatched, broken into pieces. This was whole.
I had found a similar egg long ago. I put it in a pill bottle, set it in the refrigerator for years. After that long period, the inside dried up and eventually went to a science teacher–I will try to do the same with this one.
The chicken eggs were used for a pecan pie. They were delicious.
Today I shared with you just a little bit about the wildlife on Sunnybook Farm. I hope you can find nature’s beauty where you live, too.
I am challenging myself to write something on my blog every day. I’ve been trying to do this for some time now, but now, with the new changes in the world, it has become even more difficult. I won’t be getting out as much now.
I have food in the pantry, the refrigerator, and in the freezer. I even make my own bread–I got in the habit of making bread because Bob only liked my bread and not any store-bought varieties. Now I’m hooked on my own baking, too.
On a news report, I heard some of the food that people need to replenish often. They talked about needing bread, eggs, and milk.
Besides making bread, my hens help solve the egg problem for me. I usually get two to three a day. When I feed the girls I gather eggs and thank them for their efforts.
Bob made the nest boxes we have out of five-gallon buckets. The girls seem to like one more than the other two we have. I always find all their eggs in one nest. They must take turns.
I usually can’t eat all they give me, but with the chickens around, I won’t go hungry.
It snowed today. Not more than two inches, but that made a spot in our yard slippery. As I threw a bit of garbage in the outside bin, my foot slipped. I was heading head over heels, knocking the bin over, but somehow saved myself from a complete fall. Thank goodness. Too many friends have had falls lately that left them bruised and hurting. I’m happy to have saved myself today.
After bringing in the mail, I went to check on my seven hens and give them some table scraps.
Since the hens have been docile, I left the outside door open. That was a mistake. One white hen raced passed me when I opened the coop door. She stopped suddenly when her feet hit the snow.
I figured this was my chance to recapture her, but she had other ideas.
Not liking the two inches of snow, the hen flapped into the air and flew about twenty feet away to an open space under a nearby pine tree.
Grumpily, I followed after her, hoping she wouldn’t go farther afield.
The hen did think about escaping under her favorite bush, but the snow made her rethink that exit.
Little by little I turned her toward the coop, my arms outstretched giving her directions.
She went left. She went right and then back again. The cold snow stopped her again.
“You’ll have to fly home,” I told her and to my surprise that’s what she did, flapping right to the open door.
At least she was home. I returned to the house, carefully stepping over the slippery ground.
This episode gives me more reason to rid myself of my little flock, but the question still remains. Where?