The family laid bare their love of animals. Rounding the chicken coop, there was discovered some waylaid egg, somehow booted from the hen house.
Oh look. I’m not sure how long it’s been there.
We can eat it for breakfast.
Won’t that be abortion? A question expected from a kid (if they knew about such things) or even some hypersensitive person.

But from the actual hen? Never.

I shrugged, at a loss for words.