New Snow

We woke up to an inch of snow and another break from school. Finley and Joe rushed to get coats and hats on, then headed out to experience the snow and check on the new chicks housed in the shop.

A few minutes later, in came Finley, with tears in her eyes and a limp, yellow chick cupped in her hands. "What can we do?" she asked me.

"There's not much we can do. I'm not sure what's wrong with it. Sometimes they just don't develop the way they're supposed to and don't make it. Do you want to keep holding it?" I asked. She nodded. I could tell by the look on her face she didn't want to give up on it yet.

Every once in a while, it would chirp and loll it's head a little. As I stroked its fuzzy little body, I noticed a bumpy, hard lump at its throat. Not long ago, my brother had a chicken sick with an impacted crop. He nursed it back to health by massaging it neck (and who knows what else). Maybe that's what was wrong with this little one.

We put a few drop of water to its beak, and it seemed to drink them eagerly, so we dipped its beak in the water and let it drink as much as it wanted. Eventually, it stopped, so at Joe's suggestion, I got out the hot water bottle to keep it warm.

  We tried to massage its neck, but it seemed so tiny and delicate, I worried we would hurt it. It slowly lessened its movements, then eventually just lay there, opening and closing its beak in silent chirps. Several minutes later, I watched as it half opened its eyes and pulled its head back in one final throe of death.

"I think it's gone," I told Finley. She picked it up and examined it, the tears welling up in her eyes. And it took everything I had to keep from laughing.

It reminded me of when my kids were infants, crying their little lungs out, the hurt so evident. Your heart breaks for their pain, but at the same time, it seems so very funny. If only they could see how inconsequential this thing is in the scope of what life will be.

Oh, how I love my daughter's tender heart! It reminds me to keep looking for the balance. We tend toward extremes. Some need to be reminded that death is necessary for life, and others treat life so callously...

Without a word, Finley went outside, found a shovel, dug a little hole, and buried the chick out in the yard, surrounded by the beauty of new snow.