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Breakfast in bed

So this morning, I open the various chicken run doors, and all the chickens tumble out except Vita. I worry about Vita — she’s the big, beautiful, shy chicken all the others peck on. She lives in a state of perpetual, panting anxiety, does Vita.

So I looked in the house, and there she was, sitting on the floor, panting anxiously.

I lifted her out and sat her on my knee and was having a good look at her when something hot and heavy landed in my lap. “Great,” thinks I, “Monday morning and I’ve already been shat upon.”

But, no — it was a egg! Poor Vita was trying to lay one when I swept her into my lap.

Her second, not her first. Her first was day before yesterday. I knew it was coming because this usually shy bird was all over the place, under hedges, hopping into the kitchen cabinets, flying onto my arm, clearly looking for a quiet spot. I popped her on the nest in the big girls’ house, and soon she disburdened herself of a perfect tiny egg.

Instinct is a wonderful thing.

August 1, 2011 — 10:18 pm
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