Saturday, February 12, 2011

Are you egging me on?

Remember how I found our garden had a secret? A secret nest of chicken's eggs - age unknown - which I was very unexcited about moving. I mean, haven't you read/seen Charlotte's Web?

Anyhow, I peered behind the bush behind which I presumed the mound of rotten eggs still lay (since I had not moved them, and was confident Haki hadn't either)...

...and they were gone.

All of them.

Gone.

Without a trace; no eggshells, yolk splashes, lone eggs, or sign there ever were eggs...other than a slight depression in the undergrowth.

Possible explanations conjured:
  • My dad (again here on business) kindly saw to their disposal.
  • One of yoooooou kindly saw to their disposal. /raised eyebrow.
  • There's a squatter somewhere nearby who is living off of poached eggs. /snorting at my own pun.
  • The lone black hen I've spied back in our garden at least four times this past fortnight has been retrieving the eggs (laid by a white hen, I'm almost certain), and returning them to her fairer friend. The two had a falling out, and she'll do anything to get back in the good books. She'd carry the eggs in a a sling like a stork does a baby...since you asked.
  • There really are snakes in New Zealand, and one of these stealthy creatures is lurking nearby with 29 or so egg-shaped lumps dotting its body. /second snort.
  • A forraging father-hedgehog stumbled upon the nest and has been scorinng big with his wife for weeks now for consistently being able to put eggs on the table. The hoglets are also impressed.
  • Some lucky weasel (or other rare mustelid) is behaving like the Ice Age squirrel, and I am going to find the even older eggs greedily stashed elsewhere with a crazy-eyed hoarder defending them.
So I asked my dad.

He didn't move them.

Doodoodoodoo.
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