I miss my chickens. And I really miss my dog. I miss the daily routine of egg collection. Finding a beautiful, brown egg every morning never loses its charm. Or at least it hasn’t yet. It’s almost as if some kind of magic happens in that coop every morning, and in a way, I guess it kind of does.
This week I am at a geology conference, so the GH&E and Boomer are charges of one of my brothers until Sunday. It’s been fun, but I’m looking forward to returning to my egg collection routine.
Yesterday, I got this photo texted to me from my dad:
Apparently this little guy got inside, and was rattling around, banging against the window, trying to escape. Worried that he’d do himself some harm (or never get out or get eaten by the cat), my dad deftly (or not so deftly?) caught him against the window and freed him outside, but not before taking a picture. Gotta show off your Dr. Doolittle skills when ya can.