Fur Balls Again Today

When our oldest children were about 7-9-11 we decided to get some chickens to raise to put in our freezer to enjoy those traditional Sunday dinners. We fixed a pen behind our barn turned garage. We lived in town across the street from the bank. There were no ordinances prohibiting animals in town then. I don't know about now as we long ago moved out of town into the country. Our children enjoyed the new chicks as much as I did when I was a child until the pressure of responsibility was upon them. One of our daughters was in charge of watering them. Being living things, chicks need much water, especially when it is warm weather. One day our daughter who was seven at the time forgot to water the chicks. We had several die. It was a sad moment. When we talked with our little girl about the experience and reminded her of her responsibility, she vigorously replied, "I HATE responsibility". It was one of those moments when a parent wants to laugh hysterically but knows to reject the tendancy and hold things together. I thought to myself, "Sometimes I hate responsibility, too." A few days into our chicken venture while feeding the chicks and moving backwards, I accidently stepped on one. What I felt was horrible but what I heard was worse. It was a premature cluck that ended abruptly and it was all over for that little chick.
Two springs ago, Isaiah and I got four bantam chicks. Bantam chickens are small birds with beautiful feathers of varying colors. I am intrigued by them. The beauty of God's creation is so evident in them. We had beautiful birds. One was a furry white bird with fluffy feet. Another was a black bird with irridesent green painted on her black feathers.One looked like a pheasant and one a quail. Isaiah named each one. One of them was "Speedy" because she was hard to catch. Both of us grew very close to those six week old little birds. One morning when I got up I gazed out the sunroom window to see the chicks. I didn't see any activity but thought I saw a pile of feathers. I ran to the bedroom to get a pair of binoculars to see more clearly. I didn't like what I saw so when my husband got up I explained my concern to him. He is the man of the family so to him falls these kinds of uglies. After he got ready for his day, he walked out to the pen. He didn't come back right away so my anxiety raised. I finally went outdoors to ask what he had found. His reply was, "they are all gone". Obviously an animal had gotten into our fence and eaten all of them leaving a fluff of feathers in the corner of the pen. I was crushed and knew it was not going to be a pleasant task to tell our nine year old grandson his pets had been eaten. Isaiah and I shed tears together that day. We both decided we were finished with chickens, we simply couldn't go through that again. Grandpa had another idea. He said we had to get more chickens to get over our loss. He finally convinced us and we went on a late spring search for more baby chicks. They were hard to find but we eventually found some in a country hatchery about twenty miles from home. They would sell us no less than six. Isaiah selected each one. While they grew to be beautiful in their own right, they never quite met the standard set by our first batch. We enforced our fencing with narrow gauged wire and were successful in keeping them safe for two summers and one winter. When the second fall came around, both Isaiah and I were finally really finished with chickens. We gave them to a farmer who accepted them with joy so it made three of us happy. Even though I don't care to try it again, I have a hard time not longing to go to the hatchery and pick a new batch. Many of life's lessons are reinforced through experiences with nature. I will always remember with fondness, the sweet little yellow balls of fur that have given me such joy.