Finally AN EGG. After a week in which the chickens have consumed a gross ton of feed, laid around a thousand poos – most of them in their hutch* and a few in Murphy’s mouth – and wandered around in a vaguely charming way.
A rough calculation informs that we’re running at£63 an egg. Which tells you everything you need to know about the myth of self sufficiency. My firm – if uninformed – hope is this miracle of egg birth shall spur the others on through a period history shall record as “The Great Laying”
I must offer myself up as the blunt hammering instrument to Carol’s architect so we can furnish the chirpy little buggers with some improved accommodation. Unfortunately, it sits somewhere around 53 on a to-do list topping out at over 100. Number one of which is exactly how we’re going to manage the lower half of the house having added six inches to the existing slab.
My only current solution is to chop my head off so I don’t bang it on the door frames.
I would have taken a picture of the first egg but didn’t because a) it looked just like an egg and b) it’s just been eaten.
* It’s not a Chicken House at all. It’s a bijou rabbit hutch conversion that – from the sounds of vigourous pecking – may not be quite large enough for four fat chickens.