Here chicky, chicky

Finally, finally, finally the chickens have begun to lay eggs! Dear husband has returned to the garage with his chicken cooker, and another day will dawn for the five ladies living in my backyard. And I will have fried eggs for breakfast. Have to admit to a slight twinge of guilt for eating the young of my youngest's chicken. But I got over it when I sank my teeth into the delicate fluff that was the white of the lightly fried egg. mmmm...eggs.

Chicken-chicken (my son had naming rights to that chicken) is the first to produce eggs. They are a delicate olive-blue shade, and she looked at me like "what the heck are you doing?" when I removed the egg from her nest. I think she actually felt a maternal beckoning; perhaps a sense of loss at the removal of the egg she worked so hard to produce? But I don't think it lasted long. Within moments of giving birth she was wandering around the chicken run digging for grubs. Unlike me who, moments after giving birth, was still lying on my back, feet in the air and a man between my legs saying "wow, that one is going to take some stitching." Thanks for the kind words. Just when exactly was the last time you pushed a large living being out of your nether regions?

So I will not feel guilty anymore when I go out to my coop at 0'dark thirty and carefully, quietly lift the egg door to see if my breakfast has been prepared for me. No, I will revel in the fact that someone else in our little household knows the bliss that is giving birth. Of course, no one came along and ate my baby. But a few grubs should help Chicken-chicken get past all that.