Oftimes chickens giveth breakfast, yet other times they taketh away.
This morning I was out on the front deck encouraging Her Porcine Highness Princess Buttercup Beatrice to come in. I was eating a lovely ciabatta toast smeared with cream cheese and topped with lettuce fresh from the garden. When she came up the steps, I leaned over to pull a fuzz of some sort from her chin.
The Priscillas (all of the original Hubbard Golden Comets here are named Priscilla–another story for another time) had also come up the steps. One of them flew into the air and handily snatched my breakfast from my fingers and ran under the elderberry bush.
We love our girls. They are beautiful, happy, insectivorous and give us the best brown eggs. But sometimes a friendly chicken just doesn’t honor that whole personal space thing.