surprise!

A couple hours before heading to the airport, things were going according to plan.

Morning chores were ahead of schedule, because we started early—as one does when missing a flight would be extremely inconvenient.

Also working in our favor: a routine designed (and constantly refined) to be as efficient as possible—a necessity for working with creatures who care not a whit about time or efficiency or airports.

So, OF COURSE this was the moment when the gods of pandemonium decided to have a little fun.

SHE (loudly): “Um, there’s a surprise for us over here…”

HE (alarmed): “What kind of surprise?”

SHE (points to tall patch of grass next to the chicken coop): “Looks like one of the girls just gifted us ten or eleven chicks.”

HE: [redacted]

One moment we’re scurrying about (as the plan required), the next we’re standing there looking at each other trying to decide what to do. A few deep breaths later we shook our heads and continued on. There was still much to be done for the other creatures, and little to be done for these babiest of baby chicks. Besides which, their mother had strong opinions about us getting too close to her brood.

And so water containers were rinsed and refilled; alfalfa cubes were soaked and delivered to hungry horses; chicken feed was scooped and spread for the rest of the flock (and defended from the local wild turkeys, who lack both manners and gratitude).

Heading ‘round to the back of the coop we found another hen, a little bantam, who looked to be settling in to lay an egg in a high-traffic spot.

SHE: “Are you sure you want to lay an egg right there…”

This hen did not, in fact, want to lay an egg right there—what she wanted, immediately, was some space for the four chicks she was sitting on.

SHE: “SERIOUSLY??”

HE: “What??”

SHE: “Four more chicks!”

HE: “What??”

SHE: “Four more!”

HE: [redacted]

If you’ve ever had a backyard flock of chickens, you may know there’s a whole process to receiving chicks from a hatchery— setting them up with a safe brooder box and a heat lamp and starter feed and water (not too deep!), and pine shavings and a roosting bar and on and on.

There are other methods and procedures and options, of course, but this is what we’ve always done. We took the process seriously the first time, and it mostly worked out fine. So we took the process even MORE seriously the next time, because if it worked once, it must be infallible.

Five surprise hatches later, we have learned that mama hens have no interest in The Process. They are, in fact, anti-process. Apparently, they’re quite satisfied with the DNA-driven instincts they’ve relied on for the past 10,000 years. (Also, they’d like everyone to know the egg came first, in case you were wondering.)

Our problem is, we feel responsible for every little life that appears in our midst. We see cute, fragile creatures running around, and our DNA-driven instinct is to help them. To make sure every single one grows up to be whatever they were meant to be. Anything less than a 100% success rate feels like failure (which is a pretty high bar, but that’s the point of a process, isn’t it??).

***

Epilogue: chores were completed on time. The flight was caught. The gods of pandemonium got their chortle. And chick starter feed was purchased at the hardware store. Because process or no, mama hens or no, we are incapable of doing nothing.

As of this morning, assuming our initial count was correct, all the hatchlings are still with us.