It has been a tramatic day - for some more than others. I regretfully report that, Fern, our 4th born, accidentally met her end today. Though the other family members seemed to have proccessed the day's events in stride, I am still grieving. I missed the funeral, which was held at about 7:45 pm CST, in our backyard. I am told it was a nice funeral and each attendee said a small prayer for Fern. She will be missed.
Fern had quickly become my favorite. She was the smallest and least expected of the hatchlings and had a docile nature. Unlike her siblings, she loved being held. Just last night, she was resting on top of my 7 month pregnant belly. I promised her that I would take good care of her. I utterly failed.
It was an unimprinting day until the afternoon. Homework, potty time, stories, lunch and naps. We were planning to go to the swimming pool in the afternoon. Before leaving for the pool, I decided to take the chicks outside for their 1st foray at foraging. We placed them in the Little-Tykes plastic playhouse. Wesley and Elena were very excited about the housing transition. Wesley put the chicks in the house's plastic sink. I quickly admonished him, stating that they needed to stay on the ground. After placing a chick feed and water dish on the ground, I closed the fake door and red shutters to the house and instructed the kids to leave the chicks alone.
I headed over to our garden to tend to a wilting tomato plant. Elena joined me in watering the budding vegetable garden. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes from the time that I turned my back on the chicks. Wesley walked over and declared that there was a dead chick in the house. I blocked his words with disbelief and crossed the 25 feet back to the playhouse. The thought, "I hope its not Fern.", crossed through my mind. To my surprise, there were three chicks huddled in one corner and a lifeless, awkardly bend baby in another. There was also a black rubber stick that belongs to our t-ball stand in the house. I yelled at Wesley to go and get Daddy. Of course, it was Fern.
I looked at her twisted body for a minute, then I looked away. Instead of waiting for Michael to command the situation. I picked her up to verify that she was not breathing. Lack of motion was verified. Wesley and Michael came of the house. I burst into tears and stated that Wesley killed Fern. Wesley's eyes welled up with tears and he indignantly asked why we blame him for everything. I assumed that he had struck her with the t-ball stick. We asked Wesley to give his account, but at this point he felt so embarrassed and confused that he started making up stories, all of which excluded him from having anything to do with Fern's death.
Flustered, I simply sent him up to his room.
We stood in the backyard for about 10 minutes, in disbelief that I had a dead, little chick in my hand. Michael to bury the body between our elefant-eared hostas. He was going to have Wesley help. We put the 3 other chicks back in the safe confines of the brooder and washed up. An outting to the swimming pool felt out-of-place, so I brought Elena in and set her down with some books. I went upstairs to check on Wesley.
Wesley was curled up in bed with his green blanket. I layed down with him. He said, "I have an idea - let's put some tape on its neck and that will make it better."
I wished it were that simple. I wanted an explaination but it was obvious that he was feeling guilty, sad and defensive. I told him a story about a bunny that I had had in my childhood that had frozen to death. Eventually we agreed that we to write a letter, to explain what had happened.
Here are Wesley's words as dictated by him:
I am sorry but we named a chick called Fern, but then one day she died. She fell and her neck was broken.
I was trying to move her to a different place so Fern could be close to her brothers and sisters. I was trying to give her a kiss because she was the sweetest one I ever loved. I held her up to my chin. Then she pecked at my hand and I got scared and she jumped. I freaked out because, Torin, my brother always says that.
She jumped up and hit the ceiling.
(this part of the letter has changed a few times.)
When she fell, she had a flip turn to the middle and she stopped moving. I froze in place then picked her up and tried to make her move but she didn't. I felt sad. I put her back on the ground and went to tell my mom that Fern had died.
The end.
Don't be too sad - just one chick died. I am sorry.
From,
Wesley
Wesley also drew the picture showing Fern on his arm and hand. Those are unhappy faces in his sketch. Whatever happened, I am sure that it was an accident and that Wesley feels regretful and sad. I suspect that he has moved past this incident but he hasn't asked to hold any of the other chicks since.
I am deeply saddened - for Fern, for Wesley, for Torin, who hadn't met her, and for myself because I loved her, too. I hadn't intended for our Chicken Project to include lessons about death and I certainly hadn't intended to leave so much room for such an aggregious error.
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