Hot Chick

I always know that Spring is around the corner when the kids begin asking for ducks and chicks.  This weekend I was out of town with Mary when the call came--two sweet girls asking if it was pleeeze OK to get a chick, because Dad said it was OK with him if it was OK with me, and they'll take really good care of it, and clean their room, and never drink and drive, and if I'll say OK then I'll be the best mom ever.  Sigh.  They didn't hear me say "No," which I did.  Somehow they ended the conversation squealing and telling Roy I said it was OK.

How did this happen?

So 2 chicks, a heat lamp and bulb, and bag of chick food 100 times bigger than two chicks combined (and a free chick guide!) came home.  We had "the talk" about how fragile birds are and how they're probably not going to make it very long, because we don't know anything about taking care of chicks, so try not to be disappointed if they die soon.  They didn't hear a word.

So it was that KK's chick--the one that looked so small and sad they felt sorry for it and brought it home--was the first to go.  We had a funeral, putting the plot in the garden right in the midst of several other dead pets with unremembered names and little wooden markers.  KK's homily was brief, "She was very small."  Mmmm hmmm.

Today girls were ready for school in no time, sat down on the kitchen floor (it's easier to wipe poo off there) and played with the remaining chick and the duck.  Yes, a duck Teresa bought Mary so she wouldn't feel left out.  One hour after they left for school I peeked in.  Oh, dear.  Chick on its side breathing twice per minute.  Not good. 

As a last resort I brought down the heat lamp, and what do you know if an hour later the little thing isn't starting to peep and open its eyes?  !!  Soon it even starts walking--saved by the heat lamp.  Brings a new meaning to "hot chick," which is I guess exactly what every chicken must be to survive.