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Memories of Little Chick

Posted on April 3, 2016 at 6:25 PM





Memories of Little Chick

One spring day, Grandma Mae presented three baby chicks to our family. Delighted, I gave her a big hug. Their bright yellow feathers were soft and delicate. My brother Carl located a large cardboard box and found a shallow bowl. After filling the bowl with water, I placed it into the box for our baby chicks. My brother was not interested in babysitting a bird. My little sister Von and I loved accepting the role as caregivers.

  

After two days, Carl’s chick died. I did not understand why it died. Was it sick? Maybe it needed more attention-or more food? My sister placed her baby chick into her doll buggy strolling through every room in our farm house. She wanted to place a scarf on her chick’s head, but I couldn’t get it tied to stay on. I decided to dress up my chick with nail polish. A couple drops of pink nail polish on its feet looked awesome.

 

By day four, Von’s chick died. My chick wearing pink nail polish stood all alone in the box. Again, we did not understand why they died. We had bonded with these little birds. I was sad. Yet, my three year old sister returned to her plastic doll. Was my chick doomed to be next? I wanted to raise it into a laying hen. Grandma Mae would be proud of me.

  

On day six, I could smell the chicken’s litter box as I walked down to the basement. Pew. Pew. Cleaning out a litter box was an awful task. After a few attempts to wash the cardboard box, I decided a new box would be a better solution. Mother’s storage room was stacked with boxes so I established a new home for little chick. Soon I realized my chick was very smelly, too. Chick needed a bath. I retrieved mother’s dish soap and created a warm bubble bath for little chick. Surprised. The water quickly matted the soft yellow feathers against its body. Chick looked sick. She began to shake. I dried her off with a bath towel, but her feathers remained matted against her frame. Suddenly, I had an idea. Mother purchased a new clothes dryer. Maybe the warm arm air could dry those feathers. I placed little chick inside the dryer and turned the dryer setting to delicate. This had to be a solution. I felt encouraged. Suddenly I heard a thump, thump, thump. It echoed from the dryer. Oh, what have I done? I thought my chick would ride around the drum until she became fluffy and warm. When I opened the dryer door, little chick fell from the top of the drum. When I picked up little chick her neck rested on its body. My heart sank. What’s wrong with its neck? I tried to straighten the neck. But, each time its’ head fell down. I placed my two fingers on its’ chest and tried to pump its’ heart back to life. Nothing. Again. Nothing.

 

Little chick remained lifeless. What did I do? How could I be so stupid? I killed little chick.

In mother’s storage room, I found an old shoebox and gathered some soft toilet tissue making a soft bed for little chick. I blew her feathers until they became fluffy and straighten her legs and pink feet. On top of the shoe box, I scribbled “Good-Bye little Chick, I love you.” Tears ran down my cheeks. I retrieved dad’s shovel from his shop and walked into the shelter belt where my favorite tree stood. Thankfully, the ground was soft to dig a shallow grave. On top of the grave, I placed a smooth rock. With pink nail polished, I drew a picture of little chick with a smile. Heaven will be a better place for little chick.

 

How will I tell grandma?

Author: Joyce Yexley

 

 


Categories: Faith & Blessings