Most of my suburban life, I had idealistic visions of someday having a house with a little more grass around it and a few chickens. That was back when I perceived it to be a bit more "Little House On The Prairie"-ish. Ma and Pa all snuggled in bed in their caps, and the kindly rooster crowing to wake them at dawn, then fresh eggs from the coop for breakfast. Contrast that with what I've got instead. Billy Kelloggs (he's the rooster) chooses to roost in the rhododendron outside the kitchen window. I think he figures my daughter and I are two more hens he needs to keep track of, and he can watch us that way. He's a little clueless, but I'll take whatever protection I can get out here, because the dogs are no help at all. Billy decided it was time to crow us all awake at 3:45 a.m. I'm not sure if it was the moon or the porch light that got him started, but he wouldn't shut up. He did his job. He woke me up, and as I lay there contemplating which recipe to use him in for dinner, he got quiet (he may be clueless, but he's not dumb).
I did have fresh eggs for breakfast. They're really good once you wash the poop off of the shells. That's a pretty important step that they never mentioned in those Laura Ingalls Wilder books. You have to wash your hands good before you put the toast in the toaster, too, and throw the dishrag in with some Clorox. I don't think Caroline Ingalls had Clorox.
So, this is how the day begins out here in the pasture. The moon comes up, the rooster crows, we all wonder why on earth we didn't just buy an alarm clock. Blessings to all, have a great day!
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