The hens have been put off laying by the cold (although we keep them safe and toasty in their hen house). Today, they came through with three beautiful eggs.
We had a store-bought egg and two of ours, and the Bear's mate showed him all three after they had been emptied out of their shells together in a bowl. The difference was obvious. Our yolks are a rich, orange color. The store-bought yolk was an anemic pale yellow like an eyeball starting to show jaundice. Growing your own really is better.
The Bear alerts any readers in the Jackson, Mississippi area, that a poultry farm and funeral home are to be auctioned off, according to WALB. The mind boggles.
"Oh, I'm so sorry. But it's just an egg. Our chickens are so unpredictable. I'll take care of that right now, ma'am. Unless, that is, well, it is attractive. A symbol of rebirth? No, of course not, ma'am. You're absolutely right. Here, let me just try to move the hands-- oh dear. Well, I guess the yolk's on her! I'm so sorry. Yes, absolutely inappropriate. When I'm nervous I tend to babble. I'll just go down to the embalming salon and get a rag and, oh, a solution of some sort. Oh, you have wet wipes? Marvelous. I... don't think it's coming off the dress. You would't happen to have another, would you? No, of course not. What was I thinking? Although you and the dearly departed look to be the same size. Suggesting? Absolutely nothing! But, honestly, in half an hour, the lid's going down and who will be the wiser? No? Wait. Here's my handkerchief! It's perfectly -- well practically perfectly clean. We'll just gently drape it over the dearly beloved's hands, and there! She looks so natural, doesn't she? As if she had a cold."