Twice, Einstein figured a way into the chicken pen. Both times, I went out to find him cornering one of the poor chickens, who are too docile to peck at him. The first time, a couple of weeks ago, we thought he’d actually killed one of them. She was playing dead, though, trying to get him to go away. I can’t blame him for it, of course: he’s a puppy, curious, and thinks that any creature that moves – a person, another dog, a cat, a toad, a chicken – is something that has the ability to be a playmate. He’s right, everything does have that ability. Whether they have the inclination is another story altogether. These little bouts have not put the chickens off their feed or stopped them from popping out eggs. We’re getting two a day now, which means that either the girls are on a longer than 24 hour cycle, or someone isn’t putting out. If it’s the latter, we may be having fresh chicken dinner sooner than expected.
One thing we did find when making some brownies was a double yolked egg.
Unexpected, but we don’t candle the eggs around here to sort them. We just eat them in one form or another.