Mr. Farmer raised hens and sold eggs to the local IGA grocery store he managed. He had a good size hen house and whenever a hen went into her brooding mode she would be moved into a smaller hen house until all the chicks were hatched. One of his hens was sitting on a dozen eggs and all the chicks came out strong, healthy, and hungry; except one. Mr. Farmer was going to let the sick chick die but Mrs. Farmer wouldn�t hear of it. She took the little chick into the house, found a shoe box she could use for a chicken bed, covered it with one of Mr. Farmer�s new flannel shirts to keep it warm, and nursed it back to health. The first day she tried to put her chick out with the other chickens they began to peck at her comb and caused the little chick to bleed. Mrs. Farmer couldn�t allow that to happen so she move HER BABY to another building where she would be safe from the others chicks. As it usually happens the chicken became attached to Mrs. Farmer and Mrs. Farmer became attached to the chicken.

Before too much time had passed Cleopatra, the chicken, was riding around in the car with Mrs. Farmer and they became great friends.

   Years had passed and Mrs. Farmer had to take Cleo to the veterinarian one day.

   �What�s wrong with Cleopatra?� the veterinarian asked Mrs. Farmer.

   �Don�t rightly know,� she answered in tears. �For several years Cleo has laid one or two eggs a day and they have always been wonderful. She has laid many double yolkers and once she even laid an egg with a triple yolk, but lately her eggs have been real funny.

   �What do you mean they have been funny?� the veterinarian asked.

   �I�ll give you some good examples,� Mrs. Farmer said now that the tears had stopped.

�The egg I cracked  open today had two nickels and a dime in it. The egg she laid yesterday had two dimes, a penny, and a quarter inside. The day before that a dime, a nickel, and seven pennies. I don�t understand how she can do that. All I ever feed her is grain and water.�

   The Maineiac veterinarian thought for a moment and smiled as though he had just found a big pot of rainbow gold. �Don�t worry about Cleopatra, Mrs. Farmer. She�s about fifty years old in chicken years and she�s just going through the change.�

   (Please understand I don�t promise that all these stories are true but they are close enough to the truth for us Maineiacs to believe.)