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So yesterday Fluffles laid an egg. Today, she goes through her typical egg ritual - screaming her head off so everyone knows she's going to lay, settling down, then screaming her head off so everyone knows she's succeeded.
"I hope she's not broody," Dad said after retrieving the egg.
"She's not broody," I said, because Fluffles has a maternal instincts of a brick, if a brick could be malevolent.
"She's still sitting there, though," he said. I had explained the relative merits of a non-broody hen earlier, primarily the bits about eating and drinking and the severe lack thereof in broody hens.
"Maybe she likes it there," I said, because it was too early in the morning to explain that she was not broody because in fact as a domestic chicken it is a miracle she even bothers to sit down before laying.
Ten minutes later, Fluffles came out from behind the chair in her typical shouty strut, head high.
Dad checked. "She's laid another egg."
"I hope she's not broody," Dad said after retrieving the egg.
"She's not broody," I said, because Fluffles has a maternal instincts of a brick, if a brick could be malevolent.
"She's still sitting there, though," he said. I had explained the relative merits of a non-broody hen earlier, primarily the bits about eating and drinking and the severe lack thereof in broody hens.
"Maybe she likes it there," I said, because it was too early in the morning to explain that she was not broody because in fact as a domestic chicken it is a miracle she even bothers to sit down before laying.
Ten minutes later, Fluffles came out from behind the chair in her typical shouty strut, head high.
Dad checked. "She's laid another egg."
