“Mom, can I go out to the chicky pen?”
“Yes, but you need to put on your boots. It’s mucky and icky out there.”
“And my hat! Where is my hat?!”
I’m puzzled that she needs a hat at all. The weather is unseasonably warm but I offer her a cap anyway.
“Not that one! My hat from Grandma … the one with pink flowers.”
Apparently pink flowers are a must for visiting chickens. We find the proper headgear and off she goes.
Out the back door,
tromping across the backyard,
through the gate,
(Don’t forget to shut it.)
She wasn’t quite as diligent about shutting the second gate and the chickens came spilling out. Oh well, that’s not what she’s come for anyway.
One egg? One measly egg?
No wait, there’s more.
…two, three, four.
Four eggs. That’s much better.
Back inside we go.
Apparently, pink flowers are a must for visiting chickens.