It had to happen sooner or later.
It happened to both me and Cassidy, about a week apart. We dropped an egg. All that work inside of one of our little chicken’s bodies to produce a perfect orangish-tan orb of healthy, disease-free eggness; and we dropped it.
In my case, I was trying to put dog food in Kenzie’s bowl (our dog, not a person you may know named Kenzie – it’s a very popular name), and dropped the egg right on the ground in Kenzie’s dog pen. He thought it was pretty cool. ‘Hey, free chow, much fresher than the stuff in the bag that the guy feeds me with that old tupperware container into my rubberized bowl’. He ate the busted egg after I took out the pieces of the shell. He didn’t seem TOO excited about it, although it may have been because I’d given him all the leftover grease from when we made those jalapeno poppers on the stove. I dumped the grease into his dog bowl – that’s ok, right? Maybe a tad too spicy for him; he’s a Shetland Sheepdog and they don’t have many spicy peppers in Shetland, wherever that is. (Although Scottish Bonnet Peppers ring a bell; no pun intended)
It is a big victory that Cassidy is now helping with the chicken wrangling. She’s been letting them out, but has been more than a little leery about touching those actual eggs. (“Dad, they’re gross; they have stuff on them, like hay and poop, and … stuff”). So we are excited to have her help in the yard.
Oh, I concede that we aren’t about to go off the grid or anything, and if we actually run OUT OF EGGS we wouldn’t starve. We’d just go to the grocery store and buy some of those salmonella-laden eggs like all of you do. I’m sure we’d be fine; look at all of you – you are the PICTURES of health.
Next time you run into me, remind me to tell you the story of our old black and white Coronado TV.
And why it’s ok that things break now and then.