It was a chilly, windy day yesterday in NE Florida. It was not a good day to be a newly-hatched chick whose mother decides to take her new chickies out searching for bugs and seeds as a couple of newly-hatched chicks found. They fell behind. I followed a trail of weakly peeping chicks, picked up a couple in distress, and then noted a pair of stiff lifeless bodies back at the nest. I picked them up to dispose of them, but their eyes looked aware although there was no movement whatsoever. I picked them up along with a couple of their weaker brethren or sistren and carried them inside to the incubator.
I passed SwampMan who was drawing plans on his computer. “Whatchu got there?”
“They look dead.”
“They’re not completely dead. Just mostly dead.” I replied.
He snorted. “WHATEVER!”
Later that evening, a cacophony of querulous peeping sounds were erupting from the incubator.
I grabbed the two previously *dead* chicks and put them in SwampMan’s hands.
“Hello, there, little angel chickens!” he said as the chicks peered up at him in bright eyed innocence. “Welcome back!”