Breakfast, the birds and the bees

I had the funniest conversation with my neighbor yesterday when I asked if they needed any more eggs.

They didn’t, but my neighbor said that their youngest son wouldn’t eat the eggs from my chickens.

I’m not surprised; Americans are pretty disconnected from their food sources so actually seeing a chicken and then knowing the egg came from its … well … butt … is very different than getting a dozen eggs from the cooler in the store.

I told my neighbor that if his son’s concern was that the eggs might contain chicks, he can rest assured that will never happen. I don’t have a rooster, I explained, so the eggs will never become chicks. To be honest, I really wasn’t sure how all of that worked myself until I started raising chickens, and I thought that might be something his son was worried about.

My neighbor replied, “I’m not ready to have that conversation yet,” and we laughed. Because in order to explain that without a rooster my chickens won’t have chicks, he’d have to explain why having a rooster would produce chicks.

And then we’re into a discussion about chicken sex. Who needs that at the breakfast table?

Visit my new blog, Notes From The Funny Farm, and don’t forget to follow me on Twitter!


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