For years people pondered, ‘which came first’, the chicken or the egg? It’s an egg that no one has cracked. Maybe the scientists are overlooking the obvious.
But don’t you need a chicken to lay an egg?
I’ve never heard anyone ask, “Which came first the turtle or the egg?” Anyway, I’m not smart enough to solve the age-old chicken/egg riddle.
But no need to brood like chickens. I’m afraid we won’t hatch anything.
Dad built a chicken coop, and we fed the chickens. Sometimes they flew over the wire and roamed freely in the yard.
Instead of following the science, let’s ask a mother of wisdom who cracked a lot of eggs.
Mom said the eggs come first. Especially at our house.
Did you know hens make a birth announcement after they lay eggs? They make a buck-buck-buck-badaaack or cackling sound. And Mom found and gathered all of the eggs before they became chickens.
If chickens were smart, they wouldn’t cluck or squawk after laying eggs. I don’t care where they squawked, Mom was on the case. She knew where to find the hen’s nest. She was Sherlock Holmes—she always got her egg.
I was little girl Watson. And Mom told me when, where, and how to fetch the eggs.
And the pursuit began.
I even crawled under the house and treaded sand like an amphibian. Mom was right. The eggs were in a sandy mound next to the chimney.
Because the hens became drumsticks, thighs, wings, and breasts at the dinner table, they were never treated as pets.
There was no Ginger, Heihei, or Camilla in our coop or on the yard.
And no one fretted or cried, “Mom, I can’t eat Chicken Little’s leg.”
In the chicken’s transition from the coop to the table, Mom was the executioner and I was the chief feather plucker.
It really doesn’t matter which came first.
We thanked God for both the chicken and egg.