Commentary
Remember, chicks will grow up

When I get into conversations with my friend and fellow teacher, Gerry, they always begin with work stuff and end up about something not even related to teaching. The other night, for example, we began talking about the teachers’ strike and ended up gabbing about chickens. Gerry told a story she likes to tell young parents around Easter time, about something that happened to her.

Gerry warned, "It all began one spring day, when my daughter was about 5 years old. That’s when my husband took Jen shopping and came back with a live, fluffy chick and a pale yellow, fuzzy baby duck.

"On Easter morning, they brought a huge basket stuffed with real live grass and the chirping fuzzballs into the living room.

"‘What is that?’ My mouth dropped open and my eyeballs nearly popping out of my head.

"‘Daddy bought them for me. Look, Mommy! Ohhh! Aren’t they cute? Look!’

"I have to admit that the two fluffy animals were sort of cute, chirping away like two fuzzy, wound-up toys in that giant Easter basket, but I also knew that cute little fuzzballs grow up to be big not-so-fuzzy animals, and I wasn’t going to be responsible for feeding and caring for them.

"‘Oh, please, please, please, Mommy, pleeease, can we keep them? Daddy and I will take care of them, I promise!’

"I still had nightmares when I thought about the time, awhile back. I agreed to let her keep the fluffy, sweet rabbit she got as a birthday gift, which eventually multiplied to 11 rabbits.

"Anyway, I told them I was not going to be taking care of that chickie and duck, no matter how cute! No, siree! And I put my foot down when they wanted to move them into the house with us!

"And so, they took those two fluffy friends out into the back yard, filled the wading pool with water and watched them swim around. Every day, my daughter and her dad fed and played with the fuzzy friends. I pretty much forgot about them until one morning, around 4 a.m., I was jolted out of bed by a loud, ‘Cock-A-Doodle-Dooooo!’

"‘What the heck is that?!’ I screamed. There, standing right below my bedroom window, was a crowing rooster. It was all grown up!

"Boy! I’ll tell you something I found out. It’s not always true that roosters crow when the sun comes up. Our chickie-turned-rooster belted out its ‘Cock-A-Doodle-Doo’ waaay before the sun began to rise . . . every single morning!"

"So if you’re thinking of getting those cute, fuzzy chickies, remember to be prepared for reveille at 4 a.m., because they WILL grow up!"

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