In our case, this is the answer to the age old question: What came first the chicken or the egg?
But, great day, alas:
I was walking home from the office and heard this insane cackling and cawing coming from the coop – almost two cartoonish for a real being to make.
My first thought: Dang raccoons again.
My second thought: Junior found himself a lady friend.
My third thought: I’m having omelets tomorrow!
My fourth thought: Whether it’s one, two, or three I’ve got to see what’s going on.
And sure enough, Junior was having a hay day in the run, fussing and squealing like a child who either just found out he’s having ice cream for dinner or mad as heck because someone took his toy away. The rest of the girls are trying to get out the trap door, but he’s carrying on so and I can’t really blame them for not wanting to cross his path.
As I peeked through the big window I see Dilly sitting in the first nesting box all by her lonesome. She’s rustling the shavings all around her, poking her beak around trying to find something to eat while moving as little as possible. She is perfectly content in her little spot, no matter the shenanigans going on at the other side of the house.
Oh, Dilly, don’t go getting sassy on me, mama. It’s a little early to be broody. We’re still recovering from the past weeks’ events… I promise, I’ll let you sit on them in a month or two.
Of course I can’t keep all the fun to myself – and I don’t really want to be the one to poke the sleeping bear – so I round up the boys, big and little, and we giddily march out to the coop. Chris opens the laying box hatch, Dilly scurries off, and there it sits. Pure, light brown bliss, still warm from Dilly’s interrupted diligence.
We congratulate the little lady and even giddier than before head back to the house, Noah inspecting our find.
About half an hour later I go back out there – most likely just to be nosy – but not to be disappointed:
I don’t know the culprit of the second one – she was clearly not feeling near as motherly and had rejoined the group quickly after her deposit. That’s alright, she can lay us as many as she wants, we won’t make her sit…
As Ashley told us in her chicken class: An ounce of prevention is worth an egg in the basket.
Well double the first (and OH! we have) and, well, you can do the math.
Anyone care to join the Fords tomorrow evening for an omelet + farm freshness from the Colvins?