Lipitor Custard

"Hey Mom, what's for dinner?"

"How about breakfast for dinner?"

"We just had that last night and the night before."

"Well then, maybe some quiche, tortilla, frittata, french toast, deviled eggs, flan, or avgolemono?  I know! Let's get out the ice cream maker and whip up some chocolate ice cream!  You know, the recipe that calls for 10 egg yolks.  We can also use up those egg whites with a nice angel food cake.  It would be delicious with the ice cream."

Remember when I was complaining that I had all of these chickens but  still had to buy eggs at the grocery store?  Well, not so much anymore.  I am getting about twelve a day now. The whole family is going have to start taking statins.  My doctor is in for a shock.  The last time I went for a physical she told me to keep doing whatever I was doing because my cholesterol was great. Of course, at that point I was probably eating AN egg a day and not six.

We now have over twenty chickens.  I think it is twenty-five, but since it got too cold to stand outside plucking feathers off of the rest of the meat birds, those ladies are all in with the layers and well, I just lost track of numbers.  All I know is the chicken coop is no longer the pristine little home that smelled of fresh hay and menthol due to my fanatic cleaning and the various potions I would rub on Chicky Rivera's chest to avoid upper respiratory infection. It now smells like a chicken coop that has over twenty chickens in it.  I failed you again Martha.

Our new menagerie of birds is quite interesting to study.  I feel like an ornithologist and social anthropologist all rolled into one. There are definite "clicks" in the hen house.  Most of these divisions fall along breed lines. The Black Austrolorps tend to hang together or sometimes with the Cuckoo Marans and the Golden Comets are all pretty tight.  The one bird who seems to transcend these social and ethnic barriers is my puny Favarolle, Fifi.  She flits from group to group throughout the day and aside from incurring the wrath of Chicky Rivera on a daily basis, seems to get along with everyone.  She has even joined the rogue group of three Austrolorps and a Maran who have forsaken the safety and warmth of the hen house for the freedom of sleeping in the trees at night. Watching Fifi try to fit in with the cool girls is kind of like watching Sandy with the Pink Ladies.

I have a nightly stand off  with our rooster, Gregory Peck over whether or not he is going into the chicken house. I say,"Yes." He says,  "No."  I would not have a problem with him standing watch outside all night because (insert PETA inspired gasps here) I don't  give a rat's ass if he becomes fox food, but the one night we left him out, the cock-a-doodle-doing started at 3:00 am.  So now every evening I find a big stick and push and prod him off of the fence and into the coop where he squawks and paces frantically for five minutes or so before he heads into the house.  Why don't I just pick up the little three pound rooster and place him inside?  He scares me.

In keeping with the Grease theme, our barnyard, "Danny" is an even bigger ass than Kyle.  It is embarrassing to admit I still don't really understand how the rooster/hen sex thing works, but I do know he climbs on the back of many an unsuspecting girl; grabs her neck with his beak for all of three seconds and then steps on her head as he dismounts.  I think this makes him not exactly, "The one that I want, who who who."

There are a couple of positives about Gregory Peck:  He hasn't attacked me yet and he keeps the ladies in the yard, unlike Kyle who always had them in the middle of the street.  It seems Kyle has accepted the fact that he is now the omega rooster and mopes around chicken coop, never attempting to fly over the fence.  Despite the fact that both Chicky Rivera and Jonah can easily fly over the fence to roam, they stick close to Kyle which helps him save face.  As the saying goes, the rooster you know is better than the rooster you don't know.  That's not the saying?  Well, it should be.  Any metaphor about messed up social interactions should reference the chicken coop.  I think I see a PhD dissertation in my future.  Eat your heart out Jane Goodall.