Chicken Fall Out

I am sitting in bed, listening to the cheeping of 7 new chicks. They're called peeps, as I have learned from Mr. Rodgers, because of this sound. My son, possibly the youngest animal savant in history, is forgoing his Saturday morning video to sit in the bathroom and take turns holding each baby chick. I am hopeful he'll lose interest before he becomes Lenny.

It occurred to me that some follow up might be good. When I finished the last blog, I was still emotionally touched by the whole chicken event. I definitely ran through a gamut of emotions on Wednesday, but landed pretty squarely back onto normalcy, as has my family. Michael generally doesn't read my blog, so he wasn't aware of the whole picture, and took it very smoothly. While a little surprised when I gave him the news and the basic information, he pretty quickly moved on. Max made a pouty face when I first told him what we were going to do, but after I explained it was the chickens he didn't like, he also moved on. So that left me and my very very smart, very very sensitive daughter.

I went to the school to pick them up, ready to go get more baby chicks. I can't very well run a chicken farm with a bunch of chickens who won't lay...so I had called our supplier, ascertained that they had the breeds of chickens I wanted, and was ready. I also did a fair bit of poultry research instead of working on tax accounting, and learned all sorts of things about breeds, all of which inspired me to get more chickens. But first, I needed to break the news.

She was bright and cheerful as we left her classroom and walked across the campus towards the preschool, and I decided to just jump right in. "Hey, honey" I said, "So, Didi and Dodo are gone". Without skipping a beat, she nodded and said "Okay". Remember the petting zoo/farm idea? She was expecting it. It's why the 3rd menopausal chicken had been given a stay of execution- they knew the other 2 were going to go...and they wanted to keep Dewey. We take a few more steps and she looks up at me and says "So, where are they?". Hmm. What to say? I need to strike a balance. I need to be honest, but not scary...I need to be matter of fact, but recognize that she is only 6...this is careful parenting time. I took a deep breath and said "We killed them." Um. Oops.

"What?!?"

"Well, honey" I backpedaled madly "I took them over the the Blancas (all the girls are actually named Blanca- mom and daughters) and Blanca took care of it for us. Remember, we were done with them, and this is what happens with chickens?" As we reach the bench for Max's classroom, her eyes have filled with tears and the sobbing has commenced. I sit on the bench, stroke her hair and say that I understand, that of course it is normal to feel this way and I remind her how when we eat chicken we discuss how it is the same animal we have outside, and I reassure her that this is the end of the cycle for Didi and Dodo and tell her about the little bit of thanks I said over the chickens for all that they had given us. She is sobbing into my chest as I say all of these things quietly only to her, and the other parents, who already think I am odd, stare at me and make those "ooo, that seems rough" looks. If they only knew.

When I am done saying all of my things that are supposed to make her feel better...and tell her that the good news is we will be able to get new baby chicks...and say that they felt no pain and that Blanca was going to clean them and bring them over for us to cook...her crying subsided. She was on her knees at this point, with her head on my belly, and she looked up at me, her tears drying, her eyes red and pensive. "Will there be a drumstick?" She asked hopefully. Whooosh! All the guilt I had disappeared. "Yes, honey, there will". And then, in a turnaround that would make any farmhand proud, she did as close to the Hannibal Lector fava beans lip smack as one might be able to do, if one isn't Anthony Hopkins. Um, ok, that kind of creeped me out.

Max's class arrives and Magnolia panicks, "Does Max know?" I assure her that he does, and that he is excited to go get new chicks, and also...well, reluctantly..."Hon, you know, Didi and Dodo were kind of old, and old chickens, well, see, we weren't going to roast them, the way you like drumsticks, cause they just won't taste as good, so we were, um, well, going to make soup with them. " Breath held, waiting for the reaction...She turned and looked at me- "Chicken Noodle Soup??" Well, actually I was thinking tortilla soup, but um, "Sure", I say. "Yay! I LOVE chicken noodle soup!!!" and off she skips to get her brother. Ok. So that trauma has passed.

We have an unsuccessful trip to the feed store in Tarzana, where the woman explains to me that just because they HAVE the chicks, as I inquired about over the phone, it doesn't mean that they can sell them today. They are only a day old and must be held until Friday. I am pissed, but the kids take it well, the free popcorn and promise of future chicks tides them over. Later, at home, I hear Magnolia calling to me- "Mom! The chicken is here!", I go to the door, and there is Blanca, white grocery bag in hand. I take it and say thank you and make sure she kept one of the chickens for herself. As I head into the kitchen I open the bag and right at the very top of the pile of raw chicken are 2 very clean chicken feet. Oy. I can't deal with chicken feet! Magnolia wants to see, and I put the bag on the counter. She picks up the foot and asks if it is, indeed, a foot. I confirm and she laughs. Laughs. She waggles it at Max, who is curious, but uninterested in touching it...and after checking to see when the soup was going to be made (not for a few days), they both scampered off to play.

I am proud of my kids. I am proud of myself too. I don't know that I will ever be able to do this by myself, as a friend pointed out on my facebook last night, it is not I that is hardcore, it is Blanca. But I certainly will enjoy the soup.