My latin Indiana Jones leading the pack, machete in hand.
Beanie caps on, boots tramping through the woods. Going on a bear hunt...or a coyote hunt, or a fox hunt. Going to hunt whatever it was that took and killed our beloved Penny. Our Penny, who laid a beautiful brown egg for me every morning.
Well, such is the life of chickens. This is, however, our first loss and the children of the Times are devastated. What else can you do but go on a hunt?
The perfect pancakes I made this morning are forgotten. I tell ya, I never make perfect pancakes. I remind them about those wonderful buttery maple treats we enjoyed to try and cheer them up. They look at me as if I don't get it.
I apologize. The hunt continues.