Did you know that in order to collect eggs from the chicken coop one must actually physically go into the chicken coop?
Saturday afternoon I found myself in the chicken coop with what seemed to be a million chickens milling around my feet. It had taken me all afternoon to work my nerve up to go back in there (after the morning chicken/back belly flop episode) but I was determined to collect eggs. Spoils of war, baby! Nevermind that I had about four or five false starts where I'd almost go in there and then turn around and walk away (quickly, of course).
I finally went in, and thought to myself, "I know! I'll give them more food so they'll stay away from me!" While this did work to keep the ones that were in the coop already away from me, it also worked to bring all of their little friends flapping and squawking in through the door to get in on the action. I hadn't really counted on that. I also hadn't counted on the fact that Nick was out there and he was doing his part to bring me chickens.
I tried to explain to Nick that it wasn't really necessary to bring me more chickens, but mostly I was only able to stand in place (uh... frozen in fear?) and squeal... and scream out "No flapping! NO flapping!!", though I don't think the chickens were listening. I didn't even have the breath to bring out a voice of doom "LIE DOWN"... I mostly just concentrated on not having a coronary. It occurred to me that if I actually died in there the chickens probably would eat my body. Can't have that.
That ba&%ard dog of mine just kept bringing chickens. Those ba$&ard chickens just kept flapping. I realized I was cornered, and to try to walk through the see of bodies would mean more ruckus. So I did the only thing a girl could do... I started collecting eggs. In my shirt. 'Cuz I'd forgotten the egg basket.
I had this strange - and admittedly unreasonable - fear that a chicken would somehow peck my belly. I know, it makes no sense, but I couldn't help it. I kept my shirt sort of over my tum while still holding eggs... but not crushing them. I'm special like that. I sang a little song in my head about collecting eggs, only occasionally punctuated by a squeal when a chicken would flap.
I got to the last nest box and there was a chicken in it. No way was I putting my hand in there. Ever. She even looked pissed off. Like she was some sort of... devil chicken. No, not really, but give me some credit... I'd been wading in a sea of chickens and hadn't run yet (or wet my pants).
I walked slowly, quietly out of the coop, with my spoils of war quietly nestled in my shirt. I took them in the house and carefully put them in egg cartons. I then danced up and down while screaming "EW EW EW" and spinning in tiny circles. Then it occurred to me that I would have to do this again the next day.
I figured I would need a new plan if I was going to avoid death and having my body pecked over.