PatrickRoo
Songster
- Jun 2, 2017
- 260
- 141
- 116
It was a nice, warm summer afternoon in the rural parts of Southern Illinois. My mom was talking to our "chicken sitter" since we were about to all go on a trip. (My mom was going to Florida, me and my sister were going to visit our Dad's house.) Me and my sister were petting our Black Laced Gold Wyandotte, Mac-n-Cheese.
My mom, the sitter, my sister and I all went to the walk-in coop door. She opened the door and began to point around. Pointing at where the chickens roost, where the sitter will need to pour in more bedding, and then where the chickens will lay there eggs. After she pointed at the nesting boxes, she screamed. She ran over to the boxes and picked up this beautiful, poopy, brown egg.
My legs were shaking, my sister had a shakiness to her voice. My mom took so many pictures, I did too. To this day we still don't know who layed the egg, though.
Guess what? It wasn't a "fart" egg, either. It had a medium-sized, dark orange yolk.
My mom, the sitter, my sister and I all went to the walk-in coop door. She opened the door and began to point around. Pointing at where the chickens roost, where the sitter will need to pour in more bedding, and then where the chickens will lay there eggs. After she pointed at the nesting boxes, she screamed. She ran over to the boxes and picked up this beautiful, poopy, brown egg.
My legs were shaking, my sister had a shakiness to her voice. My mom took so many pictures, I did too. To this day we still don't know who layed the egg, though.
Guess what? It wasn't a "fart" egg, either. It had a medium-sized, dark orange yolk.