(This is the last in a series of 3 about my daughter adjusting to life in a small rural town)
Our first Easter in Lamar, I bought 6 bantam chickens for Patty and her brother. There were four females and two roosters. Both kids delighted with the chicks and helped raise them. That first winter was a cold one and we did not have a heater in the chicken pen so we moved them into the kitchen. I found a large box at the furniture store and set up a home
away from home for our charges.
The young chickens had all the comforts of home. We stuck rods through the cardboard sides for them to roost upon. Water and plenty of food was deposited in jar lids. We even cut out little doors so we could peek in on them.
One day I heard a big ruckus coming from the box. I peeked in to see what they were all frazzled about. They seemed to be attending to one particular chick, named Henrietta. I watched intently as she finally deposited one tiny egg in the straw. When I called Patty and showed her the egg she was enthralled.
The next afternoon they started up another hullabaloo so I ran and got Patty so she could watch. This time it was Peepers, Patty’s favorite, which was doing her dance. We watched and then there it was lying in the straw.
Patty, gasped, stomped out of the kitchen and slammed the door to her room.
I knocked on her door, went into her room, and asked her what was wrong.
Patty, replied in a disgusted voice, “Did you see where that egg came from? I’m NEVER eating eggs again!” To myself I thought, “Wonder what she will refuse to eat when I let the eggs hatch?”
I also wondered how long it would take a 10 year old child to starve to death?