March 9, 2014 – Every so often, one of us lays an egg the size of a whale. Today was such an occasion, when a mammoth shell showed up in the straw that cushions the last nest box on the right in Coop #1. It has to be a triple yolker… This thing is huge!
I tried to find out who it was that produced such impressive work, but no one is talking. Typically, we can tell by the squawks that fill the air immediately after an egg of this caliber is delivered, but we heard nothing out of the ordinary. No one from that henhouse – not Charlotte or Addie, Emaline or Daisy… not even my good friend Peaches, is walking around today with an adjusted gate or blown out lady hole (a malady surely afflicting the layer of an egg of this scope).
I have to hand it to the Orpingtons. They are troopers. Sawyer said it is because the breed is British, and the British are refined. They’d have to be. If something the size of a butternut squash tried to squeeze itself out of my fluffy bits, trust me – you’d know about it!
I think one day when it’s warm outside and we’re chilling under the pine trees sipping strawberry hooch, someone’s going to spill the beans. And when that day comes, I am going to give the hen who laid the epic egg, a standing ovation… (And maybe a plastic comb. I have two boxes of them stored in the shed.)