We feed hay a half bale at a time, which means when I cut the twine, the first half is tight, neat and orderly flakes. The second half is, well, somewhat scattered (due mostly to the rampages of a goose and two dozen something chickens) but I squooge up an armful and manage to get a mostly intact pile down to the waiting diners.
Today was a squooge day, and I wrapped up the largest pile I could from the hay stacks, and deposited it on the sled. (I drag around my feed/hay on a sled for most of the winter). I turned to grab a scoop of grain, and when I looked back, there was an egg on the ground next to the sled.
It hadn't been there before - no one pinched it out when I wasn't looking - the only possibility was that it rolled out from the squooge of hay on the sled. So, someone laid the egg during the day, and here it was.
I was momentarily speechless. The egg was either evidence of a MAJOR case of prolapse for some unfortunate chicken, or...
Candy - the male Canada goose that has been farm greeter, chicken herder, comic relief, and my gardening companion for all these three years - is a girl.
Talk about your "late bloomer..."