The Sticky Tricks of Dirty Chicks

imageNo little kid should ever be allowed a small, defenseless duck, chick, or bunny for a pet. One of those four hundred pound tortoises would be a far better choice. It could protect itself and the kid couldn’t pick it up. Porcupines or crocodiles should be fine, too. They could probably hold their own against a four year old. Case in point, when I was four, Mother went to the farm supply store to get baby chicks to raise for the freezer. They came in a brown cardboard box with air holes. Naturally, I fell in love with the chicks and begged for one of my own. Thinking I would quickly lose interest, Mother had one put in a paper bag just for me.

As I sat on the backseat of the car with my chick, I took it out and admired it, putting its tiny, fluffy body next to my cheek. It was so sweet and smelled so chicky. Mother made me put it back in the bag, saying it needed to rest. Reluctantly, I set it to the side. We stopped by another store and Mother let me get some gum. I can’t imagine why she couldn’t predict the future. I was well-pleased with the situation since I usually never got two goodies in one day. I chomped the gum till my jaws were tired. As we headed home, Mother noticed I was getting sleepy. She told me, “Don’t swallow that gum. Just wrap it in the gum wrapper and drop it in one of the grocery bags in the back next to you.” I couldn’t find my gum wrapper, so I just dropped the wad of gum in the nearest bag, the one with the chick, and nodded off.

When we got home, I woke up and remembered my precious chickie. I opened the bag and found the chick, gum in his fluff. His tiny feet stuck to the bottom of the bag. When I pulled him out, gum ribbons stretched from the bag to his little feet. I wailed in dismay. Mother was disgusted and took the chick, cleaned the gum off the best she could, confiscated him and returned him to the troop of chicks as she’d intended from the beginning. I wanted to trade for one of the fresh, clean chicks, but Mother said, “NO!!!!!!” He suffered no real harm; just shared his gum with the other chicks till quite a few of them had combination chicken poop, dirt, and gummy fluff accessorized with tiny bits of biddy food. The gummy little chicks stuck together when they touched and sometimes had to struggle a bit to get apart. I was ashamed of my former friend as he scurried around the nastiest of all his little biddy friends. However, in a few days, once all the chicks feathered out, I couldn’t tell him from the rest. I was a little hurt he didn’t seem to have any special feelings for me, after all we’d been through together.

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64 thoughts on “The Sticky Tricks of Dirty Chicks

  1. I must admit, I felt sooo sorry for the little chick. Young children should get tortoises, as you say, not small sweet fuzzy animals that can get harmed by innocent negligence. You write your story so well!

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  2. Chickens apparently make good pets. There is a nursing home here in Australia that has instituted chicken therapy for the residents. They are all clucking happily together 🙂

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  3. Wow! Did your story ever bring back memories! My sister and I got baby chickens at Easter too. I never will forget when I was old enough to know the story of Jesus’s death, we awoke Easter morning to find both my sister’s and my baby chicken were dead. We were so amazed at what we thought was the symbolism of their dying on Easter. (Kind of got things backwards at 3 and 5 years old. LOL, We did get baby ducks later and they grew to be healthy and noisy. It seems that baby ducks have a better chance at survival than baby chickens. (Or maybe mother protected them better. lol)
    I really enjoy your stories!! My grandmother was a country girl and taught me to love nature and farm life too. Keep up the good work!!

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    • Oh Lord! Were they resurrected three days later? It’s great for kids to grow up on the farm. No need for sex education, explaining death, and lots of other things. Kind of puts things in perspective.

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      • Oh yes. I meant to tell you I had the rare “privilege” of helping to pluck a chicken and I saw my grandpapa ring a hen’s neck and cut off the head of another at different times. This gave clear understanding of “running around like a chicken with its head cut off!” He was my country grandfather. I need to write a blog about how he and my grandmother met and lived on a farm! I loved them dearly. Such great memories.

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