muninnhuginn | Fourteen

or, Miss Redly's Stash

Our recent springtime flood of eggs has somewhat abated. Not so much I've concerned. But we have been finding fewer eggs in the pod. (Those of the chicken-owning persuasion will have guessed already where we're going, but I'm sometimes somewhat slow.)

Because I'm keeping an eye on the new black hen with no name*, who is currently still getting acquainted with the other two, I've been popping into the garden every half-hour or so. Before lunch, I went out and found Miss Blue Two hooting at the new-black-hen-with-no-name and the new arrival honking back. Miss Redly was nowhere to be seen.

I asked her where she was* and a quiet clook came from the middle of the "veg." patch (what was, and would have been, our veg. patch had my back not prevented me from clearing the bambles and planting it up this spring). I peeped in and saw a comfily-snuggled down little red hen who was far too small to hide the clutch of eggs she was sitting on. She came out and I proceeded to prune may way in and gather the fourteen eggs. Not all Miss Redly's: there were some distinctly topedo-shaped Blue Two productions in the mix.

We did the float test and got varying, fresh to moderately-fresh, results. M bravely cracked the least-fresh half-dozen and we had a very enjoyable lunch of scrambled eggs.

Miss Redly has been seen wandering disconsolate around the garden.

* We need a name or she'll be Jack Two.

**Sometimes, it's that easy: say "Helloo!" and they'll generally cluck back.