Death of a Chick

Translation of top message found on the outside of an envelope, for those of you who don't read sobbing 5-yr old: "Sad conversation [contained inside]. Love, Clara, Jacob, Isaac, William"

Obviously tragedy struck the other day. As I worked away on the chicken coop, Jacob came running into the garage with Will's beloved chickie, Baby. Somehow she had broken her neck and was feebly trying to escape her impending doom. Within a few seconds she was dead.

The kids all sat in a circle around Baby and talked about memories they had with her as they wiped their eyes. Will pointed out that Baby especially loved him because she was yellow when we got her, which used to be his favorite color. Then he changed it to black, and Baby heard him so she started growing some black and white feathers. Jacob, ever the advocate for justice, was determined to get to the bottom of who exactly stepped on her. After some heated debate, William interrupted, saying, "Jacob, it doesn't matter who stepped on her because I'm not going to take their chicken. I'll just pick a new one."

Then Clara immediately went inside to write a note to Michael (above) then called him so he could come home to comfort her. He came home immediately. Jacob found a shovel. Isaac fetched some toilet paper (after all, that's what they wrap mummies with). Will caressed his dead bird until funeral arrangements were completed. James walked around wondering why everyone was crying.

Funeral was performed, prayer said, flowers planted on grave, Baby feathers lashed to sticks "so we'd always know where she is," lamentations expressed, along with assurances by each child that Baby was in heaven now. My favorite was when Isaac said, "Mom, I'm sure that Baby's gone to heaven because she wasn't even eight yet and she was a good little chickie. But what about Grandma?" Obviously someone needed a refresher for the conversation we had around Great Grandma N.'s funeral. Never hurts.

Poor Grandma Allen had the bad luck of calling shortly after all of this. I was up to the elbows in dough, so weepy Clara answered the phone. "Grandma, I'm sorry to have to tell you this. We've all been crying all afternoon. You'll never guess. Baby died. She's dead and we're all so sad about it. Nope, Mom can't come to the phone. No, Dad's taking Jacob to baseball. We just can't believe it..." I rushed to clean off my hands so I could set the record straight as Meg proceeded with details about how she'd probably been stepped on and was now buried amongst the flowers, while her spirit watched us from heaven wondering why we stepped on her... Grandma was saavy enough to figure things out by the time I got her, so no harm done, minus an extremely increased heart rate for a few moments.

Poor Baby. May she rest in peace.