Just Hold That Thought, Missy

Drumstick, the chicken pictured above, has been acting particularly stupid these last few days: she's been standing on my feet when I try to herd the group in, she's been ducking under tiny gaps in the chicken wire to get into areas we're trying to keep her out of, and the bitch has pecked at us so many times that Mr. C is now afraid of the chickens.  Not to mention how many times the pushy broad has tried to come into the house.  And not to mention last Tuesday morning, when she squeezed under our gate and was calmly walking down the sidewalk five houses away before we realized she was gone.

Then, yesterday morning, she started to 'BWAWK!' loudly.  And repeatedly.  At seven a.m.  Bee and I blearily looked at each other and said, "Crap.  We have a rooster."  Which means we'd have to get rid of him.  And, since we've invested so much time and money into these babies, that means turning him into dinner.  Which is fine, and all: we just got some new barbecue sauce ordered up and everything, so I'm kind of looking forward to some smothered chicken.  I just don't look forward to the process of getting that chicken to the smothered state.


Luckily for (the aptly-named) Drumstick, a friend of mine reported that her chickens acted odd just before they started laying, so I decided to keep a good eye on where Drumstick went yesterday.  After she'd disappeared behind a fence for awhile, I checked the area.  And I found this:

!

Isn't it the most beautiful egg you've ever seen?  Particularly since the shell is so lovely and hard.  I'd heard the first few eggs a chicken lays will have softer shells . . . but not our chicken eggs!

Naturally, I couldn't just bring Bee out to show him the egg; oh no!  I had to make a production out of it.  So I ran a ribbon all around the yard for him to follow, leading up to the egg:

Kind of silly, since I wasted a large chunk of valuable Internet-surfing time to do it, and Bee then had to trip around this barricade of string until he could find the end . . . but what an end it was.

Bee was as delighted at the find as I was.  "What should we do with it?" he breathed.

Which sort of confused me.  "What do you mean?" I asked.  "Eat it, of course!  What else would we do with an egg: bronze it?"

I think we're going to make another production out of cracking that baby open, frying up its delicious innards, and consuming every delectable, home-grown bite.  There will probably be pictures for our scrapbook.

You've got to wonder how horrified Drumstick would be if she knew what we're about to do with her egg. 

But you'd better not squawk about it, Missy, or you'll be next.