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9/17/2009 3:33 AM

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Hens, on average, will produce one egg every other day. I repeat this fact often while reprimanding in the hen house. "Yo, girls," I state in my farmer voice while tossing their favorite snack, scratch, which they devour like crack cocaine. "Only two eggs today? That's below .500!"

Chickens love baseball lingo.

I call the team of five hens we keep "girls" or "hens" or "next week's soup" because they have no names. Chickens, like fashion models, are void of personality and somehow exist with brains the size of fingernails (in the case of fashion models, brightly painted fingernails).

My wife would claim otherwise. She has attempted to name the hens on several occasions, saying that they're each an "individual" and show "differing traits."

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I don't pretend to know what goes on around this farm while I'm at work, and frankly, am afraid to ask. Apparently, some of the time is spent getting to know the hens on a more personal basis. To me, they all look alike, act similarly, and are, as a team, planning my imminent demise in some foul (fowl) manner.

To be honest, our five Leghorn hens are very productive and rarely have to be encouraged. We gather, on an average week, 26 eggs. There are just the two of us up here on this hill, so it's always a pleasure to watch as the doctor reads that cholesterol number at checkup time.

Didn't know they reached into the four-digit realm, did ya, Doc?

We may both die young from too much egg yolk, but darn it, it's our yolk, produced on our farm by our hens, whatever their names. Gladys? Agnes? Tyson?

No one, with the possible exception of Sylvester Stallone in "Rocky," could eat this many eggs. That's why we give them to neighbors, friends, the UPS guy and total strangers at stoplights. "Dude," I call down to a man in a Subaru from my truck. "Want some eggs? Just laid. Fresh. Primo stuff, man. You like omelets? I know a guy that can score some cheese!"

It was embarrassing for the judge. She let me off on a reduced misdemeanor charge of "Intent to Produce a Souffle" in exchange for one dozen a week, delivered to the courthouse, for two years.

Enjoy, counselors.

Meanwhile, I look for the smallest of incremental personality differentiation so that I can isolate which of the hens is producing and which is not. That way, like a good manager (I said good, John Russell) I can alter my lineup to place my best player in a position to offer the most to the team.

I truly can't tell one from another. They all look as though they were cloned from the same test tube to me. I guess it's Mother Nature's way of reminding me that egg laying is a true team sport. There are no stars here, no individuals.

Just the team.

Unless you count that one with the really big head.

We'll call her "Barry Bonds."

To hear Scott Paulsen's column, visit www.observer-reporter.com. He can be heard each weekday afternoon from 3-7 p.m. on 1250 ESPN Radio.

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