Remember when you were laying fifteen eggs a day? We had eggs every day for breakfast and sometimes for dinner. We gave eggs to anyone who walked through the door. The most common search item on my google was “recipes with lots of eggs.”
What’s going on ladies? We solved the rat problem ages ago. December 22 is the shortest day of the year. News Flash: the light is back. It has been back. Where are the eggs?
You know what I am hungry for? That’s right, EGGS. Not egg, eggS, see the S? One egg a day, two eggs a day? Unacceptable. Thanks to your breed, you aren’t worth eating. (I tried one of your sisterhood a few years ago when the dog got a hold of you. Not much more meat than a squirrel and a lot more bones.) If things don’t change soon, you won’t be worth feeding either.
I’ve shovelled your outside pen in case you didn’t like the snow. I’ve laid down hay, in case your three pointed toes were cold. I’ve brought out treats to keep you out there in the LIGHT. I’m dreaming of other interventions. Most people leave lights on in the winter to keep their chickens laying. I’ve never loved the idea. If you girls needs a month or so off every year, I don’t begrudge you. But by February 12, I’m beyond overhead lights, girls. I’m fantasizing about putting you in little holders to squeeze your middles and setting every one of you up with the biggest flashlights I can find pointed right at your eyes, and I’ll put your heads in vices so your head stays still.
About those middles. See when the dog got your Aunt Hilda that day, I did a little investigating. Turns out you girls run regular little factories inside. There was Hilda’s egg for that day, preceded by Hilda’s egg for the next day (shell still soft), preceded by Hilda’s egg for the day after that (covered in just a casing). Heck, Hilda’s eggs for the next two weeks were there, in various sizes and shapes of readiness.
Get this in your heads. Put some notes to self on the wall. I know what you’ve got in there. If we don’t start getting some eggs soon, those little middle holders we just talked about are going to have a squeezing button. We’ll run you through them like a toothpaste tube if we have to. Your choice. But one way of the other, those eggs are going to come out.
Sadly, I have had to buy eggs twice in the last month, although I don’t know as what I got could properly be called an egg. I hope you will see fit to insure that this does not happen again. And I hope you have found this letter informative for your future planning.
The Egg Collector’s Mother and Chief of all things Chicken