This morning I pulled on sturdy boots, walked gingerly across the slippery deck, and down to snow over my knees. I carried a bucket of warm water, scraps from last nights supper, and an antique egg basket.
The dogs went with me, taking care of business, checking out the scents in the yard, and playing a quick game of leap and chase.
I went right to the coop. The heat lamp was on, shining a ruddy glow out the glass windows and across the yard. I could hear the chickens, crooning, clucking, rustling about inside. I opened the primitive latch on the door, and the chickens hustled over to see what I had brought for a treat. All except Roberta, who decided a few months ago that she cannot get down off the roost unaided. I steped up into the coop. The air was warmer here, and smelled of clean pine shavings. I lifted Roberta down. She protested half heartedly, then headed straight for the feeder.
Old water was dumped out, and the pan refreshed from the blue bucket I brought. I doled out the treats- left over veggies and pasta. No matter what I bring, it disappears rapidly.
I felt like a treasure hunter as I investigated each straw lined nest box. Five brown speckled eggs, still warm,are slipped into the old basket before I head back through the snow, dogs on my heels.
A wire basket full of eggs on the counter- it somehow sets the tone for day that is certain to be rich in blessings.
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