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And by Where’s Bunty?, I mean, Where in god’s name has that damn hen laid her eggs?

Shall we play a game of “I Spy”?

We shall!

I spy with my little eye, four days worth of eggs… no where near the chicken coop.

But rather, buried in the garden, next to our house and kitchen garden beds. At least 100 meters from the barn and coop. Last week it was in the feed bucket of one of our horse stalls. There are no horses, so why not monopolize a feeder that is sitting vacant?

This is the ongoing Bunty Egg Saga. Upon discovering her hiding spot, she promptly changes laying locale rather than just giving up and submitting to laying in the cozy array of five nesting boxes we’ve established for the flock up in the safety of our barn.

Much like how the girls prefer to roost on the kids’ swingset rather than on their sturdy branch roosts we’ve installed in the coop.

Oh these silly birds. They free range all over our property – and the neighboring road and fields – and I can’t help but adore their presence as it provides daily amusement (I dare to you watch a chicken in full sprint and not keel over with laughter) and really sets the country, farm vibe that James and I are going for. Great ambience, those hens. Oh, and their eggs are pretty outrageous, too.

Hanna loves nothing more than to play round after round of tag with them. They torment her by lingering nearby, and then she lumbers after them, catches them, pins them to the ground with her chin, and then releases, to resume the activity all over again. The hens could easily escape her antics by hopping the fence (a feat they do constantly to get between our house and their coop) and yet they remain with Hanna as they must get some enjoyment out of the game, which may be just as fun as betend. What that enjoyment is, I know naught. I can only assume it’s the vision of Hanna, full googley-eyes and bologna tongue, lurching around the yard in pursuit. It is almost as funny as their full sprint waddle.

Regardless, we’re a year in to this backyard poultry adventure, and enjoying it immensely. Chicken ownership is indeed as rad as I’d suspected. And even James agrees. And we’re still happily married.* Now that’s a win for all.

*James once told me the only reason our marriage might fall apart was if I purchased chickens. And hey, look! 12 months since that fateful day, and we’re still hitched. It’s a good thing my hunch that chickens were a totally awesome addition to the household played out in reality, eh? Or James just loves me a whole heck of a lot more than he suspected.