Dirty
birds move out; alas, chicks move in
How many folks buy wading pools for
their chickens? We do. Chicks live under heat lamps until they feather out. A
pool controls them and their mess. I called a discount store and spoke to a helpful
cashier who sang the praises of a deluxe model with built in steps and a slide.
I assured her chickens didn’t need a deluxe model. “What does a chicken need
with stairs or a slide?” I asked? Her reply consisted of silence. I imagined her
wondering if she heard correctly.
New pool installed in the porch
bathroom (remember the evil messy ducks’ pool resides in my office) we drove to
Cameron to pick up fifty darlin’ chicks. On the way home I lifted the lid
repeatedly to view the peeping mass. The thrill of new babies vied with the
dread of the weather to come. Thirty-nine degrees this evening. Why does the
temperature always drop when we fetch new birds home?
Two lamps and a space heater warmed
the bathroom into the 90’s. The chicks sipped water and tilted their heads back
to swallow. So endearing, I thought. Not like those demanding, smelly ducks
ensconced in my office. Chicks bumbled into the feeders and set to with
voracious appetites. Day one ended with contented chicks settling down on the fragrant
hay for their first nap. We checked on them throughout the night from the warm
vantage point of the inside doorway. I love chicks.
Early on day two I raced to the
bathroom to view the babies. Still sweet-smelling with dry bedding (unlike the
teen-aged ducks) they puttered around like clockwork toys. I supplied more feed and water and I noticed
wing feathers sprouting on several babies. I gazed fondly upon my little dears,
then went to feed the disgusting ducks and complete morning chores.
Day three saw chicks learning to
leap. With practice and flapping their altitude improved to double their height.
A large mahogany-colored Einstein considered the top edge of the pool. I felt a
chill. I saw the gears whirring in its chicken-brain. Another noticed it and
joined its contemplation of the pool top. More joined the fowl think tank; I knew
it was time for a higher barrier. Food and water distracted them while I went
to find the hubby, a roll of cage wire and the wire cutters.
Border secured, I went to feed the
ducks. Six escapees scuttled around the outside of the pool.”I’ve had it with
you!” I shrieked. “I’m tired of the mess and I want my office back, you dirty
birds!” Remember when I thought ducklings were adorable? Their outdoor pen
ready, Art carried them in covered buckets to their new digs. I stood in the
door of my office and contemplated the wreckage. Tomorrow, I told myself, I’ll
deal with this tomorrow. I shut the door and returned to watch the chicks for a
few minutes. Chicken therapy calms me.
Day four brought bad news. “I want
my bathroom back, “Art grumbled. “I need a long hot soak after all the duck
toting.” I wanted to cry. Visions of working in my office evaporated. I must
keep my assistant happy for the times I can’t carry out my wonderful new ideas.
I agreed to move the chicks into my office. What’s another six weeks of birds
blocking my desk? After all, chicks
are adorable.
