The Great Egg Hunt

The chickens have abandoned the nesting boxes for "safer" housing...which happens to be the deck railing right outside the kitchen door.  (Side-note: do not use that door.  The Kirby Salesman found out why last night, as he stepped in fresh chicken poop and realized he was surrounded by sleeping chicken butts.  He didn't really try to sell us the vacuum after that.)  One of the results of this is the hunt for where the chickens are laying the eggs...because they aren't using the nesting boxes or the deck.  This summer children were finding eggs in the bushes, the goat pen, the tiger-lilies, and even on the driveway.  As the temperature has decreased, so have the number of places the chickens have been laying.  So the hunt was on!  Where were the chickens laying a dozen eggs a day???  The Wife had a treasure hunt list for the children to work off of, "Did you look in the: playhouse?garage?stroller?Burley?grill?4wheeler?3wheeler?little truck bed?big truck bed?...."
After a month of finding (maybe) one egg a day, the Keeper of the Flame(oldest of the Farm-boy Trio) came in with his shirt bulging! He did it!  He found a nest with three dozen eggs in it!  Ooooo....how long did he suppose they had been there?  So the eggs were tested using the sink/float method. Bad eggs are supposed to float, and good eggs are supposed to sink.  It's really not 100% accurate, but it gives a good idea of whether or not you want to crack one open.  These are the eggs that we put in the fridge and mark "Crack with caution".  Where did he find the nest?  In the middle of the hay-bales!
Now, in order to reach the eggs in the middle of the hay bales, one must meet certain criteria.  One must be shorter than four-feet, small enough to fit in a foot-and-a-half opening, not be claustrophobic, not be allergic to hay, and willing to squeeze into a small dark cave of hay in order to hand out chicken eggs....The Wife does not meet the criteria.  So, the Wife, should she desire eggs, must make the job of getting the eggs as desirable as she can. Not wishing that any of her children should be found on a couch in a fetal position explaining the deep-rooted reasons of their fear of scrambled eggs as the job they had as a child...the Wife must stay up-beat and positive about spelunking for eggs!
Promises of brownies for breakfast, cookies for snack, and french toast for dinner abounded and children volunteered to procure the eggs for the Wife!!!  Daily we have a dozen eggs, now.  How absolutely wonderful!!! The prize was so worth the hunt!