A Day in the Life of a Baby Chick

Baby Chicks.   They are so sweet, so cute, so innocent.  I may be weird, but I like the way baby chicks smell.  Sort of like the way I like puppy breath.  There is just something homey and calming about it.  We watch them jump around and flap those tinsy tiny little wings, stretch those tiny little legs and plop down and fall asleep on their face in an instant.  You fill their feeder and they are so happy to jump into your hand so you can talk to them.  Their world is perfect.  Someone who takes care of them, a warm shelter; they have everything they need. 

I ordered 10 pullets and 2 roosters the other day.  They came in with one DOA, but the poultry house had included 8 "males" of unknown origin for warmth.  Do I really want 8 male mouths to feed?  No.  They are obviously not meat birds, so they are going to be scrawny good for nothing roosters that are going to take up room and eat a lot of expensive feed.  But now what am I suppose to do with these extras?  I could just pull their heads off.  No.  Flush them?  No.  Bury them and pretend I never saw them?  No.  So, they go in the coop with the chicks that are actually worth something, to take up room and eat my very expensive chick feed.

When feeding this morning, I noticed one of these little useless chicks laying on the floor of the cage.  He was limp and barely breathing.  My heart just sank.  Picking him up and cuddling him in my hands like he was a priceless, irreplaceable, valuable chick I rush him into the house, wrap him in towels and put him under a light.  I talk baby talk to him and snuggle him so he won't feel alone.  In my heart I know this little creature is not going to make it, but something inside me wants to try to help it.  There is nothing that I can do, except try to make him as comfortable and warm as possible.  Checking on him every few minutes and noting that I think I saw him try to raise his head.  My heart skips a little beat with anticipation that possibly he could make it, only to see him take his last little breath and drift into a permanent peaceful sleep.  As tears roll down my cheek, I gently say, "I'm sorry.  I wish I could have done something to help you." 

This little male of unknown origin is now gone.  How can something that touched my heart in such a way ever be considered useless?

Rest in peace.