Like something out of a Dr. Seuss book, my sister’s chickens lay green eggs.
Had I not seen them myself, I would have thought they’d been dyed. Yet here they are, eggs in shades of green.
The chickens themselves are comical, so I suppose it would make sense that their eggs look like they come from a children’s book.
Now that we have chickens, we get really fresh eggs.
Every day, the kids race out to the chicken coop to see whether our hens have laid any. They’ve yet to tire of the excitement that comes from finding them.
And I’ve yet to tire of eating fresh eggs.
I don’t know how I feel about this chicken business.
I’ve been talked into having hens. I resisted for a number of years, but have finally caved. Now there are four chickens in my garage, waiting for a coop to be built.
It’s for the kids, ultimately. And when my son discovered the first egg, a mere two hours after bringing them home, his excitement reminded me why they are here.
That, and fresh eggs for breakfast.