I did a really awful internet search today on how to humanely kill a chick. It did not help that I was holding the chick in question tucked under my neck while I was reading. I walked outside to tell Jonny what I had read, but before I said a word, he took one look at my splotchy red face and said, “We’re not getting any more animals.” In other words, he doesn’t think I can handle it.
I can. I just cry a lot when things don’t go as planned.
My poor little chick can’t walk. She doesn’t seem to have any feeling at all in her legs. Thankfully all the other chicks are doing very well. I am hand feeding poor little chicky throughout the day, and she is hanging in there, but I fear that her prognosis is poor. Somehow I doubt though that we’ll be following any of the advice I found on that Google search. Do you remember how crazy I was when our chicken Trouble got injured?
Jonny remembers. I promised him I wouldn’t go there again with the “farm animals.”
In his good natured sort of way:
“Won’t it be great, Ginny? You can sit in a chair in the backyard with flowers all around. Maybe you’ll have some knitting with you. There next to you, seated on her own cushion, your paralyzed pet chicken can join you. I’ll take your picture together. Maybe you can even design a carrier to wear her in during the day.”
I got myself so worked up today that I almost had to order some yarn. Then the mail came and this arrived, and that’s good because I don’t need any yarn.
Maybe tomorrow morning when I go out to check on chicky she’ll be walking, kind of like Matthew on Downton Abbey…you never know.