I have this problem with songs and song lyrics. Once I’ve learned the words, they never, ever leave my head. Sometimes, I even think in song lyrics, which is precisely what happened this morning.
Since our chickens all lay different colored eggs, we know exactly who is being the most productive (Boo) and who is falling asleep on the job (Beaker, I’m looking at you).
Which brings me to the whole point of this story: Boo, our shining star of a leghorn, has laid an egg every day this month. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. I kid you not. So I started trying to make some half-baked analogy to Chris about her being like a comet, no, not a comet, like a shooting star of chicken, burning bright, hot, and fast.
And then the perfect song to describe Boo, my little shining star, popped into my head: live fast, die young, bad girls do it well.
The Boo version: “My chain hits my chest when I’m laying in the nesting box, my chain hits my chest when I’m scratching in the chicken run.” Sing it, Boo, sing it.
