Closet cases

Today was a good day to work in my garden.  Last year, I created a garden space from what had been a parched bark mulched area with a few huge and unoriginal evergreen shrubs just outside the front door of the house.  I enclosed it in picket fencing, put in some raised beds, and imported wonderful rich soil and compost.  All I have to do to step into my garden is open my front door. 

As I did this morning.  I left the door open to let the breeze blow away the traces of winter in the house.  About fifteen minutes later, I came back inside for something.  I heard a strange scratching sound coming from the hall closet.  I slowly opened a wider gap in the partially opened door.  Yep, there was Quaila, one of our Rhode Island Red hens, scratching the floor to make a better surface on which to lay an egg.  I took a picture.

Shortly thereafter, my daughter investigated why Albert, our dapper little Old English game rooster was loitering in the entry hall.  Well, now it was time for Timora, one of his wives, to be in the closet.  This time, she found a stack of flannel sheets that I set there for my son to decide to take home or donate to charity.  She was nestled on them and had managed to pull down a coat from above.  I took a picture.

Later, my daughter called me back to look at what was currently amusing her in our busy closet.  There, in the middle of a perfectly formed flannel sheet nest, were two eggs, one big and brown, the other small and white. Each girl had left a gift.  I took a picture.