This evening I found myself in the chicken coop rushing to put the animals to bed before Ian and the boys headed out to Beavers. I needed to collect the eggs since they would freeze in the coop over night. Unfortunately, I did not have an egg basket on hand. I forgot it in the garage.
Pressed for time and disinclined to brave the cold to trek from the coop to the garage and back again, I made the oh so bad decision to carefully place the eggs inside my soft woolly mitten. They should be safe there, right? Wrong. So, so wrong.
While I was aware of my limited time for chores and the plunging temperatures, I forgot to account for my mitten and egg obsessed dog. My very, very large dog who did I mention is obsessed with my mittens and chicken eggs?
In Ava's defence, my mittens are lamb skin and probably smell delicious to her. And she was fed raw eggs as a treat on the farm where she was born. However, my very bad decision to place five very breakable eggs in my mitten in combination with failing to account for "the Ava factor" resulted in no breakfast for me tomorrow and a very slimy inside of my mitten.
Up until this dog-egg-mitten catastrophe, I was actually completely caught up on the laundry. Who was I kidding? That could never last.
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