Is there anything cuter than a little fat ball of yellow feathers? I don’t think so either! Oh … I hope you ‘all weren’t thinking I was talking about “us” kind of chicks, ladies. Although we are pretty cute, no matter what our size or age, baby chicks have it no holds barred.
My family came to the area with a loving lab mix dog named Roxie, who was the true matriarch of the family. She was only about 40 pounds, but protected and served fiercely for 16 years.
The first time we added chickens to our little piece of heaven we called Farm, I proudly brought home a dozen yellow fluff balls in an 18-quart bin. Our three city girls were grown and had never seen this stage of their food before. They, two of the grandkids, and Roxie, gathered around as I gently put four of these adorable creatures on the floor for inspection.
Immediately they started peeping, toddling and making off in different directions. Roxie felt their panic growing and knowing they were also part of her food chain, she suddenly ducked her head toward the floor and chomped up one in her mouth and sat there proud. We gasped, the children cried, and we grabbed the others up quickly. We were holding our breath in horrid disbelief at what she did.
Guilt went right through me like an arrow on fire. “I just killed a fat little fluff ball!”
After what seemed like an eternity, Roxie started to walk away toward her bed -- proud of her new lunch menu item. As she passed the bin, still containing seven more chicks, she stuck her head in and carefully dropped the quite soggy ball in with the others, unharmed. She was saving it, not eating it.
Seeing the worst scenario of our lives was an illusion, we then understood the true power of a “mother protector” and praised her. The fat chick was safe, and all was right with the world.
But let me tell you about the tiny black and white bunnies ….
Have a great day!
Pam Laird is an aspiring writer and resident of Kooskia looking to share the lighter side of rural life.