Demand for our eggs has lately exceeded production, so I looked on Craigslist today for any laying hens for sale. There was one, about a half hour's drive away, for sale for $10, but it was a show hen, a Silver Tipped Wyandotte. Still, show hens lay eggs! So I determined to buy it.
We drove out to this farm in the middle of nowhere, an exceptionally tall man came out of the house, and I had the opportunity to say something I've always wanted to say:
"I'm here to see a man about a chicken."
It turns out there's a peak age for a showing hen, and our little number seven (she has a number seven band on her leg) has peaked, and now she's old news. She was a winner, but nothing gold can stay.
The poor dear went and hid after we brought her home:
It must be horrible to be rubbing feathers with such commoners.
Little Z said she saw Friend Chicken peck Number 7 (who has a name, but darned if I can remember it- I want to call her Seven of Nine) repeatedly. "She pecked her, like, twenty times!" said Little Z. Not very friendly, Friend Chicken!
I checked in on Seven of Nine later, and she was doing fine, no longer hiding. She looked gorgeous. The only thing was, she didn't know where to sit.