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Along Life’s Way
A Fowl Fable
By Lois E. Wilson
My teacher parents had a summer fruit market on the west side of
Dayton. Every day commuting to it, we passed by the Forney Feed store.
I must have gone into it at some time, for somehow I knew they carried
baby ducks and chickens. I was eight years old.
One day the phone rang. Mother answered it. She looked puzzled as she
spoke to the caller, “What? Are you sure?” She asked, “Do we have to
take them? Well, all right. We’ll be there this afternoon.” She hung
up, “Lois, what have you done? Did you order six chickens and a duck
from Forney’s?”
I stammered, “Yes, I want to raise some pets. I want to do what Grandpa
does.” We picked up the order and took it home. Dad created a box pen
and put a light bulb in it for warmth. The store had sold us feed and
containers for water and feed. I was in business, like Grandpa, with my
pets that seemed to be adjusting fairly well.
A few days later, proud of my endeavor, I insisted on taking my pets to
school for “Show and Tell.” My parents warned, “If they get chilled,
they could die.” At that time “die” didn’t mean much to me. My pets
looked healthy—I persisted. The next day to show the class, I carried
them to school in a box. I had named the duck, Donald. The chickens
needed names. So I named one, Miss Rudy, after our principal; the
others were named for teachers.
Back home in their big box pen, I checked on them. Some of the
chickens, their eyes closed, were shaking as they huddled by the warm
bulb. They looked very sick. That night I learned what “die” meant—I
lost three of them.
The pets outgrew their pen. Dad suggested it was time to take them to
Grandpa’s chicken farm. It was on three acres which stretched west
along the southern border of the Dayton airport. Grandpa had three
chicken houses for 200 laying hens. So Donald, Miss Rudy, and the two
teacher chickens took up residency there.
You’ve heard the saying, ”Birds of a feather flock together.” My pets
defied that observation. Donald was at the top of the three chickens’
pecking order. After a rain, they followed Donald into puddles and
splashed as he did. Ignoring the other 200 chickens, they followed him
everywhere. It was quite comical.
My pets hadn’t had the diversity training that was in vogue. They
weren’t forced to integrate. They recognized each species as one of
their own—and Donald was certainly an exemplary leader. In fact, the
teacher chickens had demoted Miss Rudy. She was no longer their
principal.
Moral: Treat everyone with kindness; you never know who will end up
ruling the roost!
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