When I was in fourth grade my class incubated chicken eggs as a
class project. I obviously lived in a very small town in the Midwest, anyway. We turned the eggs and made sure the heat was always just right for them. We took flash
lights to them so we could see the growing chick inside. We got very attached
to these chicken eggs. Then the time came and chicks started to hatch.
It was a gloriously magical day that I still remember fondly. Seeing those
little beaks break through the shells, then they so ungracefully
fall out of the shell and into the world. It was incredible. A week earlier permission
slips had gone home asking parents if the kids could bring their beloved chicks
home. I was one of the lucky ones I had permission to bring my
chick home. The next day I brought an empty peanut butter jar with holes in the top to school with me I was Ready to become a chicken mother.
I got my chick
home and my mom helped me to make a home for it out of
a cardboard box with the top cut off. We had a towel in it and a
little tray of bird seed and some water, it was a chickens dream. I was sitting
on the floor holding my little baby chick in the palm of my hand and
my mom asked me what I wanted to name the chick. I thought about it for some
time and decided that because when I held onto my chick in my open palm it
would peck around looking for food that the logical name for this
little chick was Pecker. My mom as you might imagine was a bit taken back and
asked if I was sure I wanted to go with the name Pecker. I was very sure;
it just made so much sense. So my Pecker and I were best friends I
played with Pecker pretty much constantly.
A couple of weeks past and Pecker and I were getting along great
but sadly a friend of mine from my class had been told by her dad that her baby
chick had to go. They didn't live on a farm and to make matters worse they had
a cat and the cat didn't appreciate the warm and fuzzy baby chick in quit the
same way we did. So she asked me if I would adopt her chick for her and raise
it with my chick. Well of course I wanted to! So I asked my mom and sure enough
she said as long as they stayed in their box I could have two baby chicks. So
my friend brought over her chick and its remaining bird seed, we introduced the
two chicks to each other and it was a beautiful thing. Now this is
the 90's and if you know anything about the 90's you know that Saved by the
Bell was one of the biggest shows of the time. My friend and
I defiantly loved the show and she loved it so much that she named
her chick Screech. So now if you are keeping track I have Pecker and
Screech.
Another couple of
weeks went by and my mom was sending me to stay the weekend at my Grandma's, so
of course I couldn't leave my babies at home alone. I packed up Pecker and I packed up Screech and
we set off to Grandma's. When I arrived I brought the chicks in, got their box
all set up, I refilled their waters and they were all good. My family started to
show up shortly after and they were all sitting at my Grandma's table drinking
coffee when my uncle asked why there were chickens in the house. I
didn't understand at the time why my mom was so adamant that I told
the story to my family but I get it now. I said Pecker and Screech to my whole
family about a dozen times. I was even baited into saying it. My cousin would
say “OK now which one was that I forgot?" and of course I would say
Pecker. In retrospect my family must have gotten quit a kick out of
the whole thing. I had no idea what was so funny. I just thought
they shared my chicken love.
Well eventually
Pecker and Screech got so big that the box wasn't keeping them contained
anymore and my mom broke the news to me that it was time for the chickens to
move outside. It was a very sad day but Pecker and Screech were loaded up into
a cage and taken to my uncle's farm. I thought I would never recover from the loss
of my beloved Pecker but I knew it was for the best. I visited my
chickens every couple of weeks when we would go to the farm and then
one day I couldn't find them. I asked my aunt, uncle and cousins if anyone knew
where my chickens were. No one would answer me. I kept pestering my family for
weeks over the fact that Pecker and Screech were missing. I was moments away from making up "Lost" posters for my chickens when finally my uncle put it to rest. The last word
I heard on the matter was "Sarah, your Pecker is gone."
That was that the end of my beloved Pecker.
I tell you this
story for a few reasons 1. It's therapeutic I don't know that I ever
fully recovered over the loss of my Pecker and poor Screech. 2. It's pretty
funny now that I'm old enough to understand why my family made me say the
chickens names 400 times, and still do to this day actually. I’m almost 30
years old and my family still gets a kick out of it and 3. If your kid is
walking around innocently saying Pecker and Screech to everyone they meet, stop
them. I don't know how old I was when it finally hit me why this story was so
funny but I think I was about 15 and the realization made me want to
bury myself alive. I can laugh about it now but think to yourself how would you
feel if you realized that you had said Pecker to your grandma dozens of times? Think
about that. Be kind to your kids.
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