So…. chickens. Bet you thought I’d forgotten, eh?
Fast forward a few weeks and every now and then I’m having a private little poultry-related moment. Which sounds a tad kinky, but I can assure you it was entirely consensual. One night I’m thinking about my little feathered posse, hoping they’re ok, and I expressed my concern to Hubby. His considered response was ,”I don’t understand this chicken thing, they’re just stupid fat birds.”
“Well maybe, but possibly you’re not seeing the bigger picture…”
“I should know, I used to have chickens.”
Long stunned silence.
“Yeah, we had a few for eggs.”
“Did they lay many?”
“Uh-huh. Most laid…..”
And then he said it.
“….one a day.”
Cue slack-jawed amazement.
“Chickens can lay an egg EVERY DAY?!”
It’s possible that never having experienced the “miracle of childbirth” ( the miracle being that anyone should ever choose to have more after the first ) he just couldn’t comprehend the enormity of the task. I’ve had 3 children, though admittedly one was delivered by Caesarian, and another was so tiny and premature that she shot out with the very first push – you could almost imagine the midwife at the business end wearing goalie gloves, crouched and ready to catch that sucker.
The other child though… Holy Jesus Christ On A Bike… I was walking like John Wayne for months, so I could relate. ( Too much info ? Ooops. Forget you just read that then and we’ll just pretend nothing happened… *soothing humming* ). Chicken bums are tiny, and their eggs…aren’t. It must be like having to accommodate a cantaloupe on a 24 hr rota. Please note I’m using a fruit-related analogy for convenience, and it’s not something I have first hand experience with obviously. Let’s just say that “Causing a disturbance in the fresh fruit section” is just over-dramatising the whole affair and leave it at that…. *ahem*
But that’s only one aspect. Take a good look at an egg. Crack it open and look at the thickness of the shell, the yolk, the white, and then imagine having to create that every single day. It’s mind-boggling. It’s not like taking your daily morning poop as a response to your regular bowl of weetabix and a double espresso mocha chokka zippedee doo dah with a dash of cinnamon, the bird is producing a little life capsule. It’s a bloody miracle! It’s almost enough to put me off eating eggs out of guilt. Almost. But I’ll be over it by the end of this paragraph. Hmm. Yup. Fine again.
Naturally I thought he was just having me on, so I did a little research. And he was right! Some chickens really DO lay an egg daily. I was suitably impressed whilst at the same time a trifle dejected for those poor battery birds who never see life outside of a cage. I hate it when my conscience sticks it’s leg out and trips me like that. So now I want a chicken of my own. And a house with a nice large secure garden for my chicken to wander around in. Just you wait, when I win the lottery I’m opening up a chicken sanctuary where poultry will live happy and stress free lives. I’ve even decided on a name for it.