Maternal Instincts
on Me Talk Pretty One Day (Malawi), 20/Feb/2009 11:25, 34 days ago
They grow up so fast, don’t they? They used to spend most of their time sleeping like little angels, but before you know it, you can’t get them to bed for love nor money. Gone are the days when they cried out for your attention, for care, for comfort, just to know that you were still there; now they want simply nothingto do with you. As they grow older, you become an increasing nuisance to them, an embarrassment even. Some days it seems that they will only tolerate your presence during feeding time. And if that wasn’t enough, you come home from a hard day’s work one evening to find that one of your little darlings has escaped from their pen and pooped in the pile of clean laundry that was waiting to be ironed. As you face the ignominy of doing your dirty laundry in public, you recall that you just knew things were going to become more difficult when they started growing feathers. For sure, raising chickens can be a challenge at the best of times, and being mother to four newly-hatched chicks, especially so.Sydni, Harriet, Clementine and Dutchess are their names—four girls. When they first arrived home from the hatchery, they lived in a large bucket, which sat atop a pile of books, which were stacked on a small coffee table, which rested on top of a couple of dining chairs, which stood on top of the dining table itself. This precarious tower was designedto keep the chicks close to the lightbulb which hung from the ceiling, providing them with a constant source of heat. Unfortunately, this isMalawi, and during those first few days we suffered extensive power cuts and cool temperatures as the torrential rains soaked the world outside. If you’ve ever seen a group of four chicks huddled together in a bucket next to the warm glow of an oil lamp, you will know that it is one of the most adorable sights in the world.But as I say, they grow up so fast. The four girls currently live in a corner of the dining room sectioned off by an upturned coffee table and a few large boxes of library books that I’m supposed to have delivered to Teacher Development Centres by now. I know that one day these chickens will produce eggs, but right now all they seem to produce is toxic poop and an incredible amount of dust. They smell; the dining room smells; the whole house smells no matter how often I clean up after them. But I love them all the same. That’s just the way it is when you’re raising chickens: they eat all your food and they destroy your house, but you know that you will miss them dearly when the time comes and they are finally old enough to find their own way in the world and fly the coop.