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Saturday, December 12 2009

The Mystery of the Disappearing Eggs

I am not a mental giant before I've had my coffee.  I recognize this fact and try to accommodate for my weakness.  But lately, I have had to question my sanity.  Each morning, it is my habit to stumble out of bed, cuss excited dogs, turn out goats, and collect eggs.  I then return with the eggs, place them on a barrel and proceed to feed horses and sheep. 

I always count the eggs.  I am certain when I leave the hen house that I know exactly how many eggs I have in my pocket.  I think.  After I return from feeding the horses, lately I seem to come up with a different number.  It's always LOWER than my original count.  (In my business, we call that A CLUE.)

So today I did a little surveillance . . . and wonder of wonders . . . I found my suspect!

     My Black Belgian!

                                                                        

                                                                          Caught!  Red-handed!  (Red-tongued!)

 

"Hmmmm . . . that tasted like another."

                                                                                                    And another . . .

                                                                         

 

And then there were 7 . . .

I put the remaining eggs in the pockets of my gym pants.

A word of caution: Do not, I repeat, DO NOT place 7 eggs in your pockets if you own a very bouncy 9-month old Border Collie . . .

. . . and then there were 6.

 

Posted by: forensicfarmgirl AT 10:41 am   |  Permalink   |  Email

Red Feather Ranch, Failte Gate Farm
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