I may or may not have mentioned that lately our egg production has dropped off severely. We were getting about eighteen eggs a day. Now we're averaging nine.
Why? I suppose they wondered why we were harvesting the fruits of their labor and decided to give them a try. Lo and behold, chickens love eating eggs. Filthy little cannibals.
I didn't know this about chickens before we had them. There were a lot of things I didn't know about chickens before we had them. But I do know that I will never again feel bad about eating the grody creatures. They deserve to be eaten and good riddance.
Case in point: my husband spent many hours away from farm duties to rig up a system to prevent their poaching. Pulleys, trap doors, pipes, gravity systems; it would have made Rube Goldberg proud. For about one week our problems were solved. The eggs would roll to the back of the laying boxes, out of harm's way, or else drop through a hole into a padded bucket below. Voila.
But no. Those furious little bird brains were scheming, and hatched a plot so brilliantly stupid we couldn't have anticipated it.
They now go into the egg-laying boxes head first.
With their hind ends hanging out in the breeze.
So their eggs kersplat into the coop below where a bunch of eager biddies are greedily awaiting a scrambled egg breakfast.
I hate chickens.