It wasn't the first time the neighbour has telephoned to say there's chicken eggs in her hay shed. In fact, it's becoming an all too regular event. My girls sneaking over the fence to the dry, cosy expanse of the hay shed. To be honest, with all this rain, the conditions we provide are becoming a little damp, so I can hardly blame them for looking for a more comfortable laying spot. I'm just grateful to have such lovely neighbours who don't mind telephoning to let me know of the treasures left in the shed.
So Hugo and I set off down the lane today, climbing the locked gate into the shed to collect thirteen eggs. And we couldn't resist carefully splashing in a few puddles on the way home.
The funny thing is, I'm not really sure who is laying these eggs. As we're collecting at least four eggs a day, and I only have five hens. I've tested the eggs and they're fresh.
It's very peculiar. In fact, it's eggsstrawdinary.
Okay, I've finished with the puns. I know they're not eggsactly funny.