Howdy! So very glad you’ve stopped in one more time. Are you hungry?
Mama Kat has invited us to share a photo from this past week’s Instagram fun, and this one sprung to mind:
It’s basically… an egg. A ginormous, heavy as a boulder, almost the size of my perfectly normal sized hand, egg. I collected it still warm from beneath the feathery hiney of one of our youngest hens. She’s a little white and brown girl named “Other Chicken.” Because on that naming day I was sorely lacking in creativity. Odds are she wasn’t the poor soul who laid it, but I cannot guarantee that. As Other Chicken was doing that day, hens often sit on a whole clutch of eggs that do not belong to them. It’s like they all read Hillary Clinton’s It Take s a Village or something.
Anyway, my online friends all made guesses about whether it was a goose egg or a double yolker chicken egg, and I let this glorious package of protein and miracles sit in the glow of admiration for a couple of days. Honestly, though, I was disappointed nobody volunteered the possibility of dinosaur egg. Come on you guys! Let’s think outside of the nesting box for a sec.
Then a few days later I was starving to death but fresh out of my staple food, which is off brand tortilla chips. So I heated up a skillet with a little real butter and cracked open that dinosaur egg. I’ll spare you the suspense. It was definitely a chicken egg, double yolker. It was deep orange, too, not anemic yellow, and it was dense and fresh and perfect. I ate it scrambled up with spinach and mushrooms.
And it was delicious.
The End.
