The little fluffballs are growing and are visibly bigger than they were just a few days ago. I suppose they won't stay cute forever. Several people have told me not to base my ability to care for our soon-to-arrive-child on my ability to raise baby chicks, primarily because chicks can drop dead of a myriad of diseases in their early days. While heeding this advice, I can't help but think that the chicks are offering a glimpse of two distasteful aspects of parenthood.
First, poop. Lots of it. I've spent the last few days hanging with the peeps for about an hour a day waiting for each one to poo so I know they are not pasted up. Poor Tallulah pasted up repeatedly from Wednesday until yesterday. ("Pasting up" means that the poo sticks to their fluffy behind and prevents the chick’s ability to poo further. It can be fatal if not “addressed”.) There has been more cleaning of chicken butts and picking poo off of Tallulah's rear than either one of us would like, although Tallulah has the worst of it. So, poop. Good times.
Second, I’m getting a lot of ungrateful featherball attitude. I feed them, change their water, have a thermometer in the box to ensure that it stays a toasty 95 degrees, protect them from the cats, and pick poo off their butts to prevent their untimely demise...and what do I get?! Attitude. I pick them up and they peep bloody murder and try to get away. I'm trying to bond with my chickens and they hate me. OK, OK, in fairness, given the relative size difference between us, I imagine they see my putting my hand into their box as the hand of god descending to smite them for their poultry sins. I would run from the hand of god, too. Also, I tend to anthropomorphize all of our creatures and, although I'm sure my chickens will grow up to be a smart and civilized lot, they are just little dinosaurs. I must remember this. http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/6548719.stm While it's possible that dinosaurs had a rich and deep emotional life, I suspect not, and I should not expect love and devotion from the chickens. I suppose it's much the same for children--I have to love the little dinosaur no matter what; she gets to decide whether or not to like or love me. That stinks.
Poop and attitude: the rewards of parenthood. But at least the chickens will lay eggs at some point. And children will eventually... put me in the home.
Hmm.... chickens 1, children 0.
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2 comments:
Poultry sins!! Early parenthood is kind of like this in terms of poopiness and ungratefulness, but it gets better once the baby learns to digest food (something the chicks will no doubt learn too) and smile (something the chicks will probably not master).
That's good to know--about the baby, not the chickens. I will prepare myself for a few months of baby's poop, spit-up and her complete indifference to my undying affection for and devotion to her.
Sounds like some of my high school crushes, well, without the poop and spit-up.
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