The American writer and humorist Mark Twain is credited with having said, “The more I learn about people, the more I like my dog.”  After years of working with “the public” through high school and college, I suppose that is one reason why I was so happy when I sort of stumbled into starting a pet sitting business.  From a hedgehog named Spike to an octopus that I could never find until it was time for him to eat, I used to say I had taken care of just about every critter with the exception of farm animals.  Now urban farming is on the rise and I have been caring for chickens as well in the last several years.  The neighborhood in which my Choctaw grandmother lived was lively with sound of cackling hens and they had a rooster who used to chase me relentlessly around the yard when I had to go out and gather eggs.  When I was a kid it was very much sneered upon if one had chickens.  Now our upper middle class neighborhood is full of fancy chicken coops and people are gathering their own eggs.  I love it, as it is a blow to the horrible industry of factory farming, which MUST stop.  This way one can have eggs and know for certain they did not inflict suffering upon other animals just to eat them.  I have since learned there are all sorts of breeds of hens and I was thrilled to discover there are some that lay actual blue eggs.  I had clients recently who went to Europe and they had added eight chickens in a large coop on the other side of their house, completely separate from their dogs.  My little one is my best helper and she comes with me when she is not in school.  When I told her we would be gathering eggs she looked exactly like I felt the first time I gathered eggs at just about her age.  “HELLO LADIES!” I said loudly in a pronounced falsetto voice.  Immediately they started with their soft “brawk brawk brawk brawk” which would become louder as they got to know me.  I lifted up my little one and showed her where to look for the eggs.  This coop was much better designed than the one I used to check when I was a kid.  I actually had to go in and up, risking getting my heels pecked to death by the very protective rooster.  Now I believe it is illegal to have roosters in the city.  So I lifted the first hatch for her and there was nothing.  Going to the second, I told her to look in each “stall.”  “I FOUND SOME MAMA!” my little one squealed.  “What now?” she asked.  “Get them!” I told her as she gingerly placed her little hands inside.  “Careful” I told her as she handed them to me one by one.  “MAMA THIS ONE’S PINK!” she shrieked.  She feels the same way about pink that I do about blue.  “Can I keep it?!  PLEASE?”  “May I please keep it” I said, automatically correcting her.  “And yes, you may.  They told us to please enjoy the eggs while they are gone.”  “GOODY!” she said with joy.  “We get to take them home!”  It is hard to see by this picture, but during the course of their trip we collected eggs ranging from white to brown to my little one’s favorite pink and, to my delight, blue!  One day I was out with the ladies a little earlier than normal.  I lifted up the second hatch to find a startled and I swear somewhat embarrassed looking chicken.  She was in the process of laying an egg.  Our eyes met and I said, “Oh I beg your pardon!” quickly closing the hatch.  My little one could not stop laughing at me.  Now she loves to go around saying, “I beg your pardon!” and then dissolves into fits of giggles.  Oh well, I told her, I guess I was just too “eggcited.”