Yesterday Farmer H told The Pony that he needs to start looking for eggs again.
Every winter, our hens slow down considerably on their laying. It doesn't help matters that they shun their chicken house and free-range all over Hillmomba. You never know the new hidey-hole where they all decide to drop their hen-fruit.
During this cold snap, or should I say, from December until now, we have been finding nary a blue, green, or brown egg. Nada. So this recent development was a bit of a shock.
"I found over 20 egg this evenin'." That's how Farmer H talks, like a crusty, stubble-cheeked, sunken-mouthed, tobacco-chawin', overalled, straw-hatted bumpkin. As opposed to his real three-piece-suited, manicured, pedicured, Ivy-League-educated self. Hee haw! Almost fooled you into believing that one, didn't I? "You need to start looking for eggs again. I threw them all away because I don't know how old they were. But those chickens are definitely laying, so we need to gather eggs."
I refuse to believe the recent discovery of 20 eggs has anything to do with the ten days that my sweet, sweet Juno was laid up in her very special dog house due to a big fat foot.
I'm positive there was no connection.