2. Spoiled Chicks

When we first moved to town, my father worked in a defense plant when the war ended, the plant shut down. So, my father went looking for another job. He started were working in a hatchery. He usually just worked days but when the little chicks were being hatched, he had to go back late in the evening to see that all the incubators were functioning properly. Sometimes he would take me with him. I was fascinated that a machine would do the work of a mother hen. Sometimes the farmers would bring their eggs into the hatchery to be hatched into baby chicks. No matter what kind of chickens they were supposed to be, there were always a few strange ones in the bunch. The hatchery always had their own eggs hatching. So, they would take out the unusual ones and put in the proper kind of chicks. The unusual ones were given away to anyone that wanted them. My father brought me some of those chicks. He would bring one or two every day or so. I ended up with a total of 13.

We had raised some chickens in a chicken house and still had the equipment. And they had decided to not raise a big bunch of chickens this particular year. My father helped me clean up the chicken house and we put these little chicks in it. Because there were so few of them, I was able to give them excellent care. I don’t know how my father could tell that they were different kinds, but they all looked yellow and fuzzy to me. But they soon began to take on different characteristics and color. As I became able to tell them apart, I gave them names. I tried to give each one the same amount of spatial attention. And my interpretation of that was a special treat for each. And I carried each one around under my arm and sang to them. When they got big enough to look for bugs, we would let them out of the chicken house during the day. Every evening, when I arrived home from school, I would stand on the back porch and a little bell. I would sit down on the back steps. The chickens would come flying and clucking to me, they acted as happy to see me as I was to see them. They would all try to climb into my lap at once. It was a funny side as they pushed each other out of the way so they could get a treat first. They were pretty good to not mess on me, but they had no respect for the back porch, whatever. I had always thought chickens were dumb, but this bunch weren’t, they got to coming up to the back porch about a half hour before I came in from school.

My mother would run them off with a broom that only happened a few times because when they heard my mother coming, they would scatter in all directions and come right back after she left, she was not happy about that. She told me I would have to find a new meeting place for my feathered friends or they would end up in her skillet. I couldn’t bear the thought of this. I took an orange crate out under a big tree in the backyard and rang the bell and called them. But they liked the back porch better. They just wouldn’t stay off of it. I tried everything I could think of but I had spoiled them rotten. I didn’t let them out of the chicken house. When I left for school. The next day and mother said they clocked and flew against the door all day. It was my own fault. I should never have sat on the steps when I started ringing the bell and I shouldn’t have fed them there, I’d become very attached to all of them. I had a white [inaudible 00:11:31], a big red hen, a black and white spotted hand, a fat white hand with fluffy white feathers around her feet and some mixed colors. There was one rooster, but he was very gentle. He had become my favorite and he was definitely a leader. When he went off in any direction, his clucking would bring the whole flock with him. He liked to be sat on the back porch trail so they all lined up with him.

They were driving mother crazy. She had never had chicken act like cats before and she was not at all happy with the situation. Much to my sorrow, my father found a farmer who said he would buy them from me. I didn’t want to sell them, but what chance did I have? They wouldn’t act right. And I didn’t want mother to cook them. Children and chickens are a lot alike sometimes if you allow them to get in a habit of doing something wrong, they want to continue. Many a parent has created their own problems by not training their children right from the very start. One thing for sure, the situation is a lot more complex with children. You won’t be able to sell them like they did my chickens. I think children and chickens are a lot alike. They can bring you joy and sometimes they can get very spoiled.