We have recently been enjoying the fruits of our chicken raising labor. Trenton and I were beginning to lose hope of ever getting a return for the expense of food and inconvenience of caring and cleaning up after our hens, until last week. To our pleasant surprise, there were two delicate, oatmeal colored eggs nestled on a bed of straw.
I'm not sure if there is anything cuter than the excitement Emma and Ben have each morning as they pull their boots on over their pajamas.
Emma makes it a point each morning to walk over to the chickens and say, "Thank you, Ladies!"
So far, it is only the Road Island Red that is laying eggs. One cute egg a day. Once the others start laying, we'll have more eggs than we'll know what to do with.
The eggs are a good size, and the taste is unbeatable.
You can't get any more fresh than this.
The only downside of our little experiment with urban farming has been the reality that you never really know whether or not your baby chick is a lady or a gentleman. You don't know until you are awakened by the tell-tale "Cock-a-doodle-doo!"
It's illegal to have a rooster within city limits. Very sad. I was okay with the first two roosters that Trenton took out because I had never really connected with them. But I made a big mistake with the third. I held, cuddled, and bonded with it. Right before Trenton took his life, I held him close enough that I could hear him breathing. I could hear the animal drawing in breath! Needless to say, I cried and wondered why I ever named the chickens.
Maybe the hens decided to start laying because they've been seeing this knife a lot lately.
And they figured they'd better make themselves useful before they also become food storage.
Janet
