Are You Ready to Hatch an Unusual Chicken?

by Kelly Jones

  Sam shook her head no. “I’m too busy with llamas,” she said. “But…I think my granddad might miss his chickens. He can’t do much these days, but maybe he could watch them.”

  “Does he live near here?” I asked.

  “Yeah, he moved to the retirement home across town,” Sam said. “But it’s really boring there. People who live there don’t all have a lot of energy, but they can still look out the window, and I bet they would like to watch chickens.”

  “I bet you’re right,” I told her, thinking of when my grandmother was sick.

  “We can build whatever you want. But first we need to make sure the people there are okay with having chickens, and that someone can take care of them,” Chris said.

  “I can ask my cousin,” Xochi said. “He works there.”

  “He does?” Sam asked, surprised.

  Xochi nodded. “He helps people there. And he knows how to take care of chickens.”

  “That would be great,” Sam said. “Thanks.” She smiled at Xochi—a real smile. “I guess I might need some help getting their chickens set up too.”

  “Good thing you know some poultry experts, then,” I told her, grinning. Who knew that I would become someone people asked for help with chickens? “I bet Lupe would help, and we still have lots of wood and screws and stuff.”

  You know what, Great-Uncle Jim? I’m glad you left us so many things. Sometimes, they really do come in handy.

  Love,

  Sophie

  PS I bet you miss your chickens too. I hope you can watch them, from wherever you are now. But in case you can’t, here’s what they did today, with their new friends Aquí and Allí:

  Henrietta glared at me until I gave her my apple core.

  Roadrunner stole a moth from Chatterbox and ran off with it somewhere. I hope moths are okay for chickens to eat.

  Speckles and Freckles had dust baths. They’ve dug such a big hole, they practically disappear in it when they roll around. I think Chameleon might have been having one too, but it’s hard to tell.

  Aquí and Allí wanted to lay their eggs in everyone’s favorite nest box, but Buffy was already in there and wouldn’t get out, even though she wasn’t laying eggs, she was just being broody. So they climbed in on top of her, even though there was a perfectly good empty nest box right next to it. I don’t know how they all fit. I don’t think it was a superpower thing.

  After Aquí and Allí laid their eggs and left, Buffy came out for exactly two minutes, drank some water, ate some food, did an enormous stinky poop, and went back in again.

  Friday, September 12

  Jim Brown

  Heaven’s Workshop

  Dear Great-Uncle Jim,

  I bet when you were alive and went to school here, they had shop class. But I asked my art teacher about it today, and he said that even though they still have all the tools and stuff stored, they don’t have any money to have the class anymore. He said I could start a club, though. Anyone can, as long as they have a teacher or parent representative to be part of it. I asked him if he knew how to build things. He said yes, but he’s already helping with the chorus and the drama club and the band, so he can’t take on a shop club too. I guess everyone’s pretty busy in a small school.

  I don’t want to ask my parents. I know they’re too busy already, and then they’ll feel bad that they have to tell me no about something important. Chris’s mom has her hands full too, and Sam’s parents have a long commute, so they couldn’t take a break and come over either.

  Maybe the high school still has shop class. I mean, I have to learn how to build things somehow, right?

  I wish you or Agnes were still alive. I bet you’d be great at building stuff.

  Love,

  Sophie

  Saturday, September 13

  Agnes Taylor

  Heaven

  Dear Agnes,

  When I went to check on my chickens today, I thought that Henrietta looked kind of sad, not like her regular self.

  Then I saw a huge pile of black feathers, and I freaked out. But Roadrunner ran right up to the bowl where I put their morning treats, and started pecking at the tomatoes with the squishy spots, so I figured she was okay after all.

  Only, then, when I really looked at her, I saw she was going bald in patches all over! I could see her skin through her feathers! It was kind of creepy-looking.

  I used to worry about what to do if one of the chickens got sick. There are lots of poultry people in this town, and probably even a vet and stuff, but the person that most people ask is Ms. Griegson. And even though she hasn’t tried to steal my chickens for a while, I really don’t want to ask her for help. I don’t want her or anyone else to think she could run Redwood Farm better than me.

  I called Chris, since he’s been taking care of chickens for longer than I have. He said he thought Roadrunner was probably fine, just molting.

  I read about molting in my chicken books. Apparently it’s normal for chickens to lose a whole lot of their feathers in summer or fall. But I didn’t know they lost so many they get kind of bald. Chris said I don’t need to buy them dog coats or anything, because it doesn’t get cold enough here to really be a problem (especially since they’re still wearing enough feathers for a chicken-size down jacket).

  It still didn’t look normal to me, though. So when Gregory came to deliver the mail, I asked him if he could come back after his route and take a look at them. Gregory knows my chickens, so Roadrunner wouldn’t surprise him too much if she ran up to say hi.

  Today was my lucky day, because it turned out Gregory was due for a fifteen-minute break right then anyway, so he brought his thermal mug of coffee back to take a look at my chickens. He said Chris was exactly right, and pointed out how all of Henrietta’s tail feathers had fallen off in the coop, so she looked funny in the back. He tried to show me how the pokey beginnings of feather quills were growing in on Roadrunner, only she sped off again before I could really get a look. I gave him a coffee refill from the pot Mom always has going, and told him thank you thank you thank you, and waved him off on his route again.

  I guess this was a good test of what I would do in a chicken emergency. Like an earthquake drill, where they always tell you to have a plan. Well, I can call Chris. He didn’t even laugh at me too much. And if it might be a bird thing instead of specifically a chicken thing, I can ask Gregory. And if I absolutely had to, I could even ask Ms. Griegson.

  I’m really glad everyone’s okay.

  Your friend,

  Soph

  Poultry breed observations by: Sophie Brown, unusual poultry farmer

  Observations made: Saturday, September 13

  Type of bird: Barred Plymouth Rock

  Gender of bird: Hen

  PLEASE RECORD YOUR NOTES ABOUT THE FOLLOWING:

  Comb: pinkish red, pointy

  Beak: yellow, pointy

  Eyes: reddish orange with black pupils, I think (Chameleon doesn’t like to be stared at)

  Wattles: red

  Earlobes: red

  Beard: nope

  Head: black and white striped

  Neck: black and white striped

  Body: black and white striped

  Tail: black and white striped

  Legs and Feet: yellow

  Eggs: light brown eggs, almost every day (except when she’s molting, like right now)

  Typical movements: Chameleon likes to follow me around the barnyard (at a safe distance from Henrietta). She spends a lot of time pecking at the dirt and sitting in the shade.

  Typical vocalizations (if any): Chameleon clucks to herself and to Roadrunner, when they’re hanging out together. But she never makes a sound when she disappears.

  Interactions with other poultry: Roadrunner, Buffy, and Chameleon are pretty g
ood friends. I guess Chameleon doesn’t mind cheering Roadrunner on from the sidelines while she runs around.

  Unusual abilities:

  Chameleon can blend in with her surroundings, like, you know, a chameleon. Only, I guess her abilities don’t work that well when she’s missing a lot of feathers. When Henrietta tried to charge at her today, Chameleon disappeared, but I could still see patches where she didn’t have feathers—and so could Henrietta, because she pecked her right in the bottom. (Don’t worry; I reminded Henrietta that is no way to behave.)

  Needs further research:

  Is it only Chameleon’s feathers that change color? Why do they blend in better than her bare chicken bottom?

  Collect Chameleon’s feathers and try putting them in different places, to see if they change color even when they aren’t stuck to her anymore. Maybe I can make a cloak of invisibility out of them!

  …

  Nope, they don’t work without her—or I don’t know how to make them work yet.

  Sunday, September 14

  Agnes Taylor

  Heaven’s Best Unusual Poultry Farm

  Dear Agnes,

  I rode my bike to your farm today, to practice for when my chicks move there. It took a long time, and I was tired when I got home. But that isn’t why I’m writing to you.

  It’s that I found a letter in your mailbox. A letter addressed to me. I don’t know how long it’s been there.

  You know who it was from? Ms. Griegson.

  I considered just tearing it up and throwing it out. I didn’t want to read whatever she had to say. Maybe she had reasons why she thought it was a good idea to steal my chickens before, but it was still a really mean thing to do to a kid who just moved here.

  But then I worried that maybe she’d started stealing my chickens again, and maybe this was a ransom note, or a threat that she was going to do something awful to them if I didn’t let her have them.

  It wasn’t. It was this.

  Dear Sophie,

  I’ve been thinking a lot about how Agnes left you her farm and her poultry business. I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot. I know now that was my fault, and I’d like to try and make it up to you.

  I hear that you’re beginning to hatch and raise some of her chicks. In case you didn’t know, I used to work with Agnes at Redwood Farm. If you run into any issues, please feel free to contact me. I’d like to help.

  Sincerely,

  Sue Griegson

  Dad says it’s best to forgive people and move on with your life instead of using all your energy up being mad at them. But Mom says sometimes things really aren’t fair, and sometimes being mad helps you understand that they aren’t your fault, and that those things should change, not you.

  I hope I never have to ask Ms. Griegson for help.

  Your friend,

  Soph

  PS I think I’m going to talk to Lupe about moving to Redwood Farm, now that Ms. Griegson knows I’m raising chicks. It doesn’t feel right to leave them there alone with Ms. Griegson for a neighbor, even if she is trying to be nice now.

  Monday, September 15

  Jim Brown

  Heaven

  Dear Great-Uncle Jim,

  Today at lunch, Xochi told us she asked her cousin Alexis about chickens at the retirement home. He said he didn’t know if the manager would let us do it, but that if we set everything up, he would teach some of the other helpers how to feed chickens. He told her he thought the people who live there would really like to watch chickens.

  “He likes chickens too,” Xochi said.

  Sam told Xochi thanks. But she didn’t jump in with her lists and everything right away.

  “Do you still want to do this?” I asked her.

  Sam nodded. But she didn’t say anything else.

  “Can your granddad ask the manager if it’s okay?” I asked.

  Sam shook her head no. “Granddad…well, he doesn’t always know where he is, or what’s happening anymore.” She looked at the ground. “Maybe he won’t even notice or care if there are chickens anyway.”

  Chris shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe he would really like it. C’mon, Sam—we might as well try asking them. I can make a drawing of what the coop would look like. Sophie, will you make a list of what they would need and what the duties are?”

  I nodded. “Maybe Mom can even help with some research, like how having cats is good for blood pressure or something, only for chickens.”

  “Alexis and I can make a list of the people and the times and the work,” Xochi said.

  “A schedule—that’s great,” I told her. “Thanks.” Then I looked at Sam. “I don’t want to do the talking, though, okay?” Sam knows that oral presentations make me really nervous. “And your parents would need to buy the chickens and chicken food and all that.”

  Sam nodded. “Thanks,” she said, really quietly.

  “If you ask them soon, we could build the coop at Blackbird Farm this Saturday,” I told them. “I’ll check with Lupe, but it should work.”

  “I’m going to the zoo on Saturday,” Xochi said. “But I will come help when you set up the coop and the chickens, if I can.”

  “Stop looking so sad,” Chris told Sam.

  She tried to smile, but she didn’t fool any of us really.

  I think she still wants to do this, even though she feels sad too. But if she decides she doesn’t, at least she knows we were all willing to help her.

  Love,

  Sophie

  Tuesday, September 16

  Agnes Taylor

  Heaven’s Chicken Comedy Club

  Dear Agnes,

  You know something I never knew when I lived in LA? Chickens can be the funniest animals ever.

  Lupe and I hung out with my grown-up chickens this afternoon. Chickens always look kind of serious, because they have beaks and can’t smile. But when their feathers are falling out all over the place and some have bare pink bottoms with only one feather left, or spiky new feather quills coming out of the tops of their heads, it makes their expressions extra funny.

  Lupe and I gave them all code names, to make them feel better about how silly they look right now.

  Freckles, Speckles, and Chatterbox: Plucky, Raggedy, and Patches

  Roadrunner: Speedy McNoFeathers

  Chameleon: The Tailless Wonder

  Buffy: Ms. Porcupine Bottom

  Aquí and Allí: Shaggy and Spiky

  Henrietta: Quilly Idol (It sounds like Billy Idol—he’s a singer who got famous a long time ago, so you might know him. Lupe showed me pictures of him, and his hair looks just like the spiky quills coming out all over Henrietta! Plus, he always looks kind of mad, just like she does.)

  I’m really glad I have chickens.

  Your friend,

  Soph

  Wednesday, September 17

  Mariposa García González

  Heaven

  Querida Abuelita,

  Today I finally showed the letter Ms. Griegson sent me to Lupe and explained how Ms. Griegson had stolen my chickens before, and how she used to work at Redwood Farm and wanted it for herself, but Agnes left it to me instead, and that’s why Jane thought someone should live there.

  Lupe frowned, not really mad-frowned, more confused-frowned. “So now she goes around stealing people’s chickens? Doesn’t anyone call the police or anything?”

  “I don’t think she steals everyone’s chickens. Just mine, because they’re from Redwood Farm. Ms. Griegson has a lot of friends here. She’s the head of the Poultry Association chapter and is a 4-H leader and runs the poultry show and everything,” I told Lupe.

  Lupe folded her arms and gave me a look. “Are you sure you aren’t worrying a little too much, Soficita? You know people here now too, and they know you.�
�

  I looked at my sneakers. I’m starting to get a hole in the toe of one, but my parents haven’t noticed, and I’m not bringing it up until I have to. Too bad Great-Uncle Jim didn’t leave piles of sneakers in my size around. “Maybe,” I told her. “But would you think about living there anyway? If it’s not too much trouble?”

  So Lupe brought it up at dinner tonight. My parents know that someone tried to steal my chickens, even if they don’t know exactly why.

  “Is that happening again, Soph? I thought we were all done with that. Do you need me to talk to someone?” Dad asked.

  I shook my head. “Jane thought it might be good if someone lived at Redwood Farm, so no one steals stuff from there or dumps more trash in the yard. But if you don’t think Lupe should live there, I can bike there every day instead. I don’t mind.”

  Mom frowned. “You’re in middle school now, mija. You’re going to have more homework, and I don’t want these chickens getting in the way of your education.” She looked at Lupe. “You’d need to ask your parents how they feel about it, of course.”

  Lupe nodded. “I thought I’d ask if I could sleep there, but still do my homework and have dinner here, on my way home from college, so I didn’t get lonely? And I could still pick Sophie up and drop her off on my way to school.”

  She didn’t say please. She didn’t say it was something she’d like to do. But I think Mom knew it was, because she told Lupe she could ask her parents and see what they said.

  I miss her already.

  Te extraño,

  Soficita

  PS Tía Catalina said Lupe and I could have a sleepover at Redwood Farm when my chicks move there, and then she’d think about it.

  Thursday, September 18

  Agnes Taylor

  Heaven’s Barn

  Dear Agnes,

  I guess you probably don’t pay much attention to time where you are now, so you might not realize that my chicks are already more than three weeks old! Hort says that’s big enough to move into their coop, as long as I set the heat lamp up for them. They’re getting way too crowded in their box, and their coop is all ready. I’ve been practicing riding my bike to your farm and then to school. I get tired, especially with a bunch of textbooks in my backpack, but I can do it.