Tuesday, April 29, 2014

No Tisket. No Tasket. No Basket.

The Pony has been derelict in his egg duties lately. It's not so much his fault, since we have not been finding many eggs. In fact, it got to the point where Hick would ask The Pony, "Did you collect THE EGG today?" Since not much was going on in the laying department, Hick started grabbing THE EGG after feeding the livestock, and bringing it in himself. Before you go accusing my sweet, sweet Juno of partaking of the hen fruit each day while we are away at work, please consider the fact that there has been an upturn in egg production.

Last week, Hick found a hen sitting on a pile of eggs. And before that, we got three surprise chicks. So I'm thinking those crafty hens have been laying in new hiding places. Life would be so much simpler if we kept them in a pen, rather than letting them have the run of 20 acres. Of course, they prefer to stay close by, like in the front yard, the front woods, or on the front porch.

We used to get a variety of eggs, from white, thanks to the leghorns, and greeny blue, thanks to the Ameraucanas, and brown from the black silkies, and tiny brown from the black banties. We might or might not have gotten one or two from the checkerboard banty couple. Alas, many of our feathered friends are no longer with us, due to predators in the night and possibly daytime while we're away. So lateley, all of our eggs have been big and greeny blue. Like the one on the left.

Hick and The Pony were gone over the weekend, to the Missouri USBC Youth Bowling Tournament. Hick picked up a couple of eggs before he left Saturday. On Sunday, he found another one. Monday evening, he called for The Pony to come collect EGGS. I was in the kitchen when he returned with three in his hands. The Pony put them in the wire egg basket on Hick's section of the counter, by the door.

"Aren't you supposed to take the basket outside to collect the eggs? Isn't it a bit backward to put the eggs in the basket when you get back in the house?"

"Well, Dad just said to come get them. He didn't say to wash them. So I'm leaving them here for him to do that. Besides, I didn't need the basket."

"Wasn't it hard to carry three eggs in your hand and open the door?"

"Not really. And that's not all." The Pony reached down below the counter. "He started pulling out eggs like a magician pulling an endless string of handkerchiefs. "I put some in my pocket."

I imagined one or two. But no. The Pony pulled six eggs out of one pocket on his shorts.

"What if the dogs had bumped against you? Or if you had tripped and fallen down on the big flat rock that looks like the United States?"

"But I didn't. So it doesn't matter."

Oh, for the days when The Pony grabbed his little red & green Easter basket and ran out the front door looking for eggs every evening. Now he's even too cool for a green metal wire basket.


  1. My grandfather kept chicken but other than that I know very little about keeping chickens.

  2. I guess what if's don't count if they didn't.

  3. And I apologize for my false accusation yesterday.

  4. Boys provide an endless supply of entertainment. They are always up to something, and they grow so quickly (too quickly).

    Enjoy The Pony while he's still grazing in the home pasture. it won't last forever...

  5. Sounds like you need to get that handbasket factory tooled up and in production.

  6. Can't believe The Pony had eggs in his pockets! Ha. If I had done that, they'd be smashed for sure. But there is nothing like good, farm fresh eggs... mmm.

  7. Stephen,
    Don't let that stop you from bringing four chickens home and putting them in a pen with no top. That's what Hick did, and was shocked, SHOCKED, that they got out and two of their number were eaten by our very own dogs.

    Or you could bring home a rabbit, and declare that the two ready-made, auction-bought hutches were cruel, and put your bunny in a dirt-bottomed pen that you've made especially for him, even putting a big hollow log in the middle for him to hide in. And then you could be shocked, SHOCKED, when bunniculus tunnels out overnight.

    Are you the guy who made up that horseshoes and and hand grenades "almost" quote as well?

    You apology for insinuating that my sweet, sweet Juno is a dirty girl is accepted. The hatchet is buried. I shake your virtual hand. We're good. You are on the right side of Val again.

    I can always put him in the BARn and feed him corn if the pasture thing doesn't last. Or in the basement, and feed him Krispy Kremes.

    I'm working on it. A proposed handbasket factory is not built in a day, you know.

    He's a cypher, my Pony. He does love to eat those bright-orange flavorful hen-fruit, though.