Mystery of the tiny egg

continued from the previous post, Critters

Nobody fessed up to laying that goofy little tiny egg.

It had to be either Lucy, Lil'White or Pigeon, because the two young'uns aren't old enough to lay eggs.

I knew it wasn't Lucy.  Her eggs are perfect and pointy and pink, every time.

Lil'White's eggs  are cute as a button.
She decorates each one with little white speckles.

And then there's Pigeon:

Pigeon is a... creative egg-layer.

I showed Pigeon that little nugget and asked her, point-blank.  She sucked on a piece of grass and stared vacantly.

Guilty!


It was a "fart-egg", to quote Matt (of Foothills Poultry blog)--
...he's a guy who adores these little rarities so much, he collects them.
(see, I'm not any nuttier than the rest of you!)

I couldn't save this little treasure. I just had to know what was inside.
 

Inside that shell was a perfect tiny egg. The contents fit into a teaspoon.

I fried it up in the most gigantic of pans in order to emphasize its cuteness.

With a pinch of salt,

I savored it in one delicious bite.

Thank you, Pigeon!


.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .   .  .  .  .  

Fern and Daisy will soon be laying their first eggs, 
and I've only got one nest box.
One nest box is good enough for three hens, but not enough for five.


So.  I could add another nest box....

Or I could seize this opportunity to  
***build a whole new COOP!***


Not just a plain ol' coop this time.  

My girls deserve something more.

 perhaps the Moderne look:

Tudor?....

 the Monsoon style.... 

 

... Italian Farmhouse..?

 ....... they love Swiss cheese...

Of course, I could build them a respectable, practical, functional coop...

But this design does not begin to reflect their personalities.

What they'd really like is something like this:

but I think it's against the building code in my town.


So after I raid the scrap pile at the local lumber yard, I'll begin building the perfect coop for my gals.  

hmm... marble, mahogany, stained glass...central air...

Critters

Continued from:  Becoming a Chicken

This post is dedicated to the memory of our little Cobbie,

 

who lived his entire life with this expression on his face.

He was six years old when he died  -- a little old man.

We'll miss your little pink lips, Cobbie, your loving personality, and your chubby little obesity.

So again I wipe away a tear and move on... to the circus in my backyard.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 

News alert!

Fern and Daisy are definitely girls. I just know they are. Look at these little figures --- how they hold their little tails high.  No doubt.  They're girls. Girls.

Fern and Daisy are inseparable.  They're like one four-legged chicken. 

 They come when I call, because I often have treats.  So now they consider me the most amazing human of all time, which is of course my plan.

Lil'White continues to terrorize the young'uns, 

but in the brutal heat of recent weeks, she has been just too hot to viciously pursue Fern and Daisy. 

She pants. She swoons. She drags her wings and carries on.

So Fern and Daisy get a break.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  

Here's the current setup:  

With a 14 foot play-yard between the hens' coop and the babies' coop, there's a good amount of free space for them to be together during the day. Hawks circle overhead and foxes lurk in the woods, but as long as Marky's around, the girls are safe behind the flimsy fencing and bird netting.

Marky's been spending a lot of time milling about the coop lately, 

as he's discovered a dense city of mice and voles just beneath the surface.   Spilled chicken-feed has lured the little vermin... I can only imagine the size of their stash.   Their sounds and smells are driving Marky Mad.

To prevent spillage, you're supposed to raise the feed bin up to the level of the chickens' backs, 

which I did.

But shoveling food onto the ground is Pigeon's favorite thing to do, and raising the feeder was no deterrent.

So Mouse City continues to grow, well-nourished. 

And Marky continues to spend his summer days standing in the coop, staring at the ground.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 

Okay. 
  

After three years and 1,800 eggs, here's a first:

Somebody laid an egg the size of a grape.

And I think I know who did it.

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Next post:   

THE MYSTERY OF THE TEENY EGGS