The First Egg

I had to drag myself away this morning. After three separate trips out–three separate donning and removing of boots and jackets–just to see them peck around. Chickens are for me what fish aquariums are for some–soothing and relaxing. Some people can sit and watch fish and listen to the steady glub-glub-glub of the filter, I’m partial to the soft clucking and scratching of hens.

Ben came with on the third trip out. “No, no,” he said, pointing to the chickens. “No, no.” I have no idea what was going on in his head. Babies are strange.

At 11:30 this morning, I got a call from Ted. “We got an egg!”

I am not-so-secretly jealous that Ted got to find the first egg. It’s like the first diaper—fighting over the nasty, black poo because we are just so thrilled to have created a living, breathing, pooping person! Of course, we have only created a space in which some creatures highly predisposed to lay eggs could live and lay eggs and its not a wonder that they have done just that. So, I guess its not quite the same thing. But close, really. 

When I got home, I checked and there was another egg. Here they are. I think I’m over it now–that my chickens are laying eggs. Like they are supposed to. Reading that chickens are laying eggs must be like watching paint dry. The inevitable is so…well, anyway. No more getting all worked up over eggs after this, I promise.



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