Sunday, August 4, 2013

Then End of an Era

The auction is a gift that keeps on giving.

Hick loves shopping at the auction several times a week, and giving gifts that keep people working. And by "people," I mean his own family members. Last night, he bought a new egg basket for The Pony. Now The Pony can put all his eggs in one basket. Heh, heh! See what I did there? Put all his eggs in one basket! I crack myself up sometimes. Actually, The Pony can't put all his eggs in one basket, because the tiny eggs that I think are reptile eggs but Hick says are just itty bitty chicken eggs in spite of their leathery shell would simply fall out of this new basket. And so would the banty eggs. You know. The ones my mom really likes, according to Hick.

The Pony has been collecting eggs in an old Easter basket since we first got chickens. Guess where the chickens came from. You got it! The auction! Those first feathered friends were leghorns, and they sure were layers. Then Hick bought a crate with a Typhoid Clucker. He said he heard one cough, but he didn't think anything of it, and turned the new chickens in with the old chickens, and decimated the flock. Poor Pony was on deathwatch that summer. Every day, he found a fowl corpse. Those leghorns were not hardy enough, I suppose. Now we have pretty, pretty Ameraucaunas who lay colored eggs, and ugly, ugly turkens who are butt-ugly but quite prolific. They are both a sturdy lot who only succumb to being eaten by predators.

Don't tell The Pony, but his new egg basket is really made for golf balls. But it's good enough to carry eggs. The Easter basket was on its last legs. The bottom was held in by several bread twist ties. And for a dollar, you can't go wrong buying a golf ball pail to carry eggs.

Though I would draw the line at trying to fill it with Diet Coke.


  1. For some reason when it is for carrying golf balls it id called a bucket...still won't hold diet coke.

  2. "Murder most fowl as in the best it is/But this most fowl egg basket, strange and unnatural."

  3. I hope the old egg basket gets a retirement party, since it gave up the best years of its life in dedicated service. I wonder what The Pony would plan for entertainment at the old egg basket's retirement party...

  4. I'm wondering if you put a little fake grass in there...

  5. joeh,
    That's because you know something about golf. All I know is that when my old school used to have the faculty golf tournament every year, I was really, really bad. But not bad enough to win the prize money for being the worst team. My partner and I were always next-to-last. Of course I blame HIM. He spent too much time in the woods looking for his balls (heh,heh, I said balls) and complaining that he should get to hit from the women's tee.

    Not the only thing strange and unnatural around these parts. We have a dog who thinks his paramour is a cat, and a rooster who flogs Nellie the goat. Nellie gets around, even when she's held stationary by her fence-horns.

    The Pony is not the sentimental type. I asked if he was sorry to see the old basket go, and he said no, because it was always falling apart and he had to put it back together. I think he is also resentful that Hick had stuffed it in the trash, and I made The Pony dig it out and take the picture.

    That fake grass might hold in the tiny eggs. And it would allow The Pony to swing that bucket in a windmill fashion like he did with the old basket, resulting in a few Humpty Dumpties every now and then.