Last Saturday I found my three-year-old son in the chicken coop shouting at the eggs.
I had gone outside to clean up the diaper that my turd-burgling dog had previously exploded in the front yard after stealing it from a bag of soiled diapers which had been set on the porch temporarily to be thrown in the trash bin a little later. The diaper had fused to the snow and ice, and the weather had only then gotten warm enough for the diaper to mostly detatch from the lawn without the aid of a shovel.
My son had followed me outside, and when I was done, I realized that I could no longer see him, but I could hear him intermittently shouting somewhere behind the house. I went around back to find him, but he wasn't in the back yard. I went looking in the pasture (which connects to the back yard) and soon spotted the dog in the chicken pen, where she doesn't belong. I walked over and found my son in the chicken coop. I don't know what he had been shouting, but when I asked him what he was doing, he simply said that Mommy needed to collect the eggs.