There is a tender relationship between my mother and chickens. She does more than feed them and collect their eggs; over the years we have caught her talking to them while gardening.
When springtime comes and the local feed store sells yellow balls of fluff, my mom gets teary-eyed and sentimental. Romance is in the air when Dad comes home with a smelly, cheeping, cardboard box under his arm.
Mother has collected a variety of breeds, including some Silkie Bantes that are known for their reproductive success. Moreover, they look ridiculous, like a bombastic remnant of an eighties hair band.
One recent frosty morning, Dad went out to feed her beloved brood to find a baby chick peeping indignantly. The amused farmer rushed into the house and proudly announced, “Congratulations! You’re a new mother!”
Mom couldn’t stand the suspense after the exciting birth of her first chick, so my parents spent an intimate evening hovering over the roost with a flashlight, checking eggs. A dark egg means there is a chick inside, a light egg means the setting chicken is confused.
As my Mother was inspecting one of the eggs, it PEEPED at her.
An egg can PEEP at you under the right circumstances.
Fuzzball was waiting for Mother the next day, insolently chirping out it’s demands and knocking over the water bowl. Mom was elated and, forgetting that I have a very intimate blog, called to tell me the happy news.
“We can see a thousand miracles around us every day. What is more supernatural than an egg yolk turning into a chicken?” – S. Parkes Cademan
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