The butter-and-egg man

Our next door neighbors raise chickens. They don't have a rooster, so we aren't awakened by crowing. The chickens wander their fenced yard, and sometimes when they wander over our way, Jack looks pretty interested in them. I'm not sure what breeds they all are, but one breed they have, Araucana, seem adverturous enough to perch on the top of the fence at times.

Our neighbor's son, five years old, is the egg entrepreneur. He delivers. He collects his payments in a little red cowboy-style wallet. Sometimes you need to remind him about the change. He also recycles egg-cartons, which are decorated with a cartoon pictures of his family. On it, the chickens go "Bok!" into little word balloons.

We always get a nice assortment of eggs, tan, speckled brown and pretty pale green-blue.

These eggs are so tasty and fresh, it's hard to go back to supermarket eggs.

I dropped one on the floor the other day.

I scooped up what I could and put it in Jack's bowl. He's a lucky dog!



Whenever we're out of eggs, we call next door and say,  "I want my big butter and egg man!"