When I lived on my little farm on a hill in Iowa, I raised chickens. The chicks were so cute and fluffy at first and they’d often fall asleep, falling beak-first into their food.
As they grew in their feathers and became more tolerant of cooler temperatures, I moved them outside into small growing pens near the house. One night after I’d done this, it rained hard, with thunder and lightning interrupting my sleep. In the morning, I found six flattened chick bodies stretched out like wet Beanie babies in the bottom of their pen. The rain and wind had torn away the pen’s cover and they were soaking wet and limp.
I was so sad, but before I left the farm to go to work, I picked up those six flat bodies and took them into the bathroom. Holding each one individually, I used my hair dryer to warm them and dry their feathers. They didn’t wake up, but I laid them gently on a towel in the bathtub, where I hoped they might recover.
Miracle of miracles! Nine hours later when I got home from work, I heard chirping in the bathroom. Five of the six birds who seemed dead in the morning were alive and chattering with each other. One poor small bird was not reborn, but five went on to live happy lives, foraging for bugs and grains, laying eggs, and crowing to greet the morning sun.
My miracle chicks taught me not to give up too quickly. Animals are resilient but they need protection just as much as we do. The shelter I gave them was not adequate during the storm, but five of them succeeded in fighting back to enjoy life at Cottage Hill farm.
Carol Harker