Monday, May 31, 2010
What Does One Wear to a Beheading?
"Like the dew on the mountain, like the foam on the river, like the bubble on the fountain, thou art gone-- and forever."
(With apologies, I'm sure, to Sir Walter Scott. )
As Benwick mourns the loss of what might have been, so I too am mourning today for what surely now must come. I have, Ladies and Gentlemen, a traitor in my midst.
Whilst all the henfolk look to be docile little creatures, squabbling over trivialities, knitting tea cozies as they sit upon their common nest, one of them is a conspirator, a turncoat, a defector, a deserter, a spy, a double agent, even, dare I say it, a quisling! Yes, one of them is eating eggs.
I know, I know this is hard to believe. Yet I tell you it is true. The first broken egg was an accident. So I thought at the time. Someone had tried to lay an egg on the shelf and it had fallen off, broken and most of its contents absorbed into the wood shavings. There stood one of the Black Biddies, clearly disturbed and sad, unhappy til I had cleared up the mess. But this second egg, half of the shell was missing and there were no remains of the interior! I tell you I have an Egg Eater!
I would do well to suspect the Black Biddy Hen, you say? Yes, she crossed my mind. But then I recalled an incident from three days ago: The Red Hen, the Queen, wanted to lay an egg on the shelf but Squeaky had been there previously and laid one of her Green Eggs. This so upset the Queen that she sang an Upset Song for half an hour and would not stop til the offending egg was removed. I think the Queen has developed a hatred for Squeaky's off-color eggs and is pecking them and eating them.
Off course, more investigative work must be done. I've had sporadic egg laying from the biddies for a few months now and their days are numbered in any case. But an egg eater cannot be tolerated. Once they start they do not stop. I shall have to confirm it is the Red Queen and in a ironic reversal of Alice in Wonderland,
This is only an acceleration of her eventual fate, but one I was not looking forward to. Maybe the hens will be easier to butcher than the roosters. The roos were sooo big but with a disappointing lack of meat for all the work. I may have to invest in Cornish Rock hens to accomplish my meat production goal.
But all of this in neither here nor there. I shall have to don my Holmesian Deerstalker and have at it:
I say, all along it was Colonel Mustard in the Library with a Chicken!
My Word! With a Chicken, you say?
Well, yes, it appeared to be some sort of poultry....
You are acquainted with the penalty for poultry perversion in our part of the world?
Quite, quite. It's off with their heads, I'm afraid.
Cursed bit of luck. I'm not dressed for it, you know. Bother.