When our kids were little, our middle child, Katie, asked us for chickens. She was only in kindergarten but was sure she could rise to the challenge of caring for the chickens. She begged to hatch chicks, but we chose not to start that way. We did what many a ranch parent does: said yes to chirping chicks at the local feed store.
It happened to be quite cold that spring, so these chicks lived in a large container in a partially finished bathroom in our basement. We put the heat lamp up, and the kids didn’t mind checking on them regularly. They always had plenty of food, water and love.
Katie spent the most time with them. She showed them her toys, told them stories – mostly princess stories. She was deep into her princess phase, so she donned a dress everywhere, all the time – even when checking the chicks.
We had warned the kids about handling them too much and being gentle, which they all did willingly. But it didn’t take long for Katie to figure out that she could gently wrap a chick in the folds of her dress and carry it around. I’m pretty sure each of the chicks got a tour of our house.
Being the mom that I was, I worried about germs. Fortunately, Katie changed her wardrobe often during the day, so I washed her dresses regularly. And she learned to wash her hands for as long as it took her to sing the ABCs. Everyone – including the flock of six chicks – stayed healthy.
My hubby finished the coop as the weather started getting warmer, so we moved the growing chicks outside. Katie flung on her coat over her dresses and snuck chicks from the coop to carry them around the yard. Every movement she made with them showed caution and tenderness. I was concerned for the chicks, but over the course of six months, we only lost one chick (and that happened in the first 48 hours we had them, before they got carried around).
By the time the chicks were 6 months old, they started laying some eggs. Katie desperately wanted to hatch the eggs, but without a rooster, that was impossible. She did continue to help with cleaning, even though now that they were bigger, the water dish was a bit more disgusting.
My husband made a chicken run on the back side of the coop so the chickens could come and go. At night, we’d close them up to roost to keep predators away. Katie often went out in the mornings to open the hatch – and, of course, to carry chickens around in her dress. This continued for a couple of years. There were two chickens in particular that seemed to enjoy the dress ride. They were her buddies. She’d check on them after school. She’d carry them out to the horse pasture. But she never tried to ride with one, thank goodness!
During her fourth grade year, my husband changed jobs, and it meant a move for us. We talked to Katie about getting rid of the chickens, but they were now more like pets. They continued to lay enough eggs to break even, so we did what any “rational” parent would do to try to make moving as easy as possible for their kids: We took the now five chickens to our new home, nearly six hours down the road.
It was a little hard on the chickens. They didn’t last very long. Fortunately, Katie had also picked up an interest in rabbits for 4-H, so her bunny got all her attention.
By this time, the dress phase was over. She was now into running and only wearing knit pants. Her running phase lasted longer than any other; she graduated this past May from the University of Montana after running track for almost four years in college, which came after running all through middle school and high school. Springtime was filled with track meets instead of chickens.
Every spring, though, I think about those chickens. The image of Katie carrying them around in the folds of her dresses is forever etched in my memory. Now, with all the kids out of the house, I wonder if I should get chickens again. But I’m OK with purchasing eggs. The chickens were a fun phase. I don’t regret getting the chicks. My only regret is that we didn’t hatch eggs, but I never got an incubator. Which is also OK, because after asking for hatching eggs, she moved on to wishing for a miniature fainting goat, which we never got either. And I don’t regret that!
