Egg Walk of Shame, The Joy of Raising Chickens
🥚 Egg Walk of Shame 🥚
Yep, it’s a thing. I know it’s a thing, and you know it’s a thing.
I know you’ve done it. You’ve gone out to do one of the hundred gosh forsaken farm chores and said, “crap, I’ve forgotten to get the chicken eggs for the gazillion time” and your egg basket isn’t in sight.
So you slowly head over to the chicken coop.
Your praying that your lack of thought towards collecting eggs hasn’t convinced all of your hens to turn broody. You also pray, that if they have turned broody, you don’t lose a hand trying to collect dozens of eggs as they peck away at you clucking their “death be upon you” song of their flock. While doing this you hawk eye your rooster hoping he still recognizes you. You pray again that he doesn’t practice his newly acquired ninja moves, that he conveniently learned while the hens perched above him practicing their death song, as you bend down to collect your forgotten about prizes.
If you make it through both the death song and the ninja rooster, you pray further that the clothing your wearing will allow you to fit into them the crazy amount of eggs you now see sitting in their nesting boxes. You shove the delicate eggs into any open pocket available and begin your pregnant waddle walk back into the house crossing your fingers that you don’t have any egg casualties. But beware, the dogs follow slowly behind you plotting places to trip you up and “accidentally” cause eggageddon.
If you make it into the house- congratulations! You can now pull eggs, straw, and feathers from your pockets (and any other egg storage places other people don’t know about- like your bra). Unless, as sometimes happens, you are unlucky and now shell and ooze are coming out of places you didn’t think possible. The cat is now involved. She slurps up the mess you’ve conveniently dripped from the front door to the kitchen.
And, if you’re REAL unlucky, you won’t remember to pull all those wonderful nuggets out from your clothing. You put up your jacket, or other egg collecting apparel and head off to clean up the floor and feathers, and drop those dozens of eggs into cartons. In about a month you put on that forgotten about egg apparel and head out to the store. You soon wonder why you smell like the plague. After smelling yourself and finding it’s not due to the fact that you’re getting closer to your weekly shower time but, quickly realize instead, it’s something else all together more horrific.
You begin to explore all hidden fabric crevasses for possible culprits. As your fingers graze the smooth round surface of the smelly ticking smell bomb, you panic.
It’s then that you must make a choice, wait to get back home and throw the sulfur bomb at the neighbor- who has been complaining about your rooster, or find a place to safely depose of the rotten sphere. Option one could mean more fall out, but so does assaulting your local stores garbage man, so you opt for option three. You tuck it away and carefully make your way home. You then chuck it as far into the back pasture as possible and pray for the final time that your dogs don’t find it and swear never to forget to collect eggs again. Yea, right! And you wonder why they call you the crazy chicken lady?