Gathering Eggs

Gathering Eggs--

When I was a child, we lived on a farm.  We had the usual farm animals--cows, a sway- back horse, some peacocks, pigs.  And chickens.

We had the chickens for the eggs they produced each day.   The girls had little square boxes lined with straw.  Chicken wire enclosed the sides.  They sat on their thrones and clucked away.  I often wondered if they were sharing stories about the humans who came into their kingdom.

It was our job as kids to go to the hen house and fill our basket with their eggs.   I would do anything to avoid taking the eggs away from those girls.  I would have stomach aches and head for the bathroom.  Or I would have lots of homework and no time to gather eggs.  Or maybe the dishes.  My list changed as I tried, unsuccessfully, to avoid that job.

So, grab the basket and get it over with was my thought.  On my way to the hen house, I would think about that awful moment when I had to put my hand under that warm body and steal the prize.  Dread was my best friend.  Walking into the room, I listened to them cluck.  It sounded almost like a dare.  Just see--cluck--if you--cluck-- can reach under me--cluck-- and take my treasure, little girl with the basket.  Add those beady eyes to those clucking noises, and you have a terrifying experience.

Mustering all my strength and courage, I would move my hand under the feathered body.  Gently pushing her sideways just a bit, I would ease my hand under and take the treasure.  A few times it worked.  But, most times her head would turn with lightening speed and peck my hand.  It hurt.

Maybe her privacy was being invaded.  I don't know.  But I often had dark thoughts of my Granny preparing her for dinner!

Another day of life on a farm.