KFC

I have used the phrase "running around like a headless chook" many, many times in my life, but funnily enough it has never applied to me more appropriately than in the last two days. We have been housesitting at the Wild's place since Sunday, caring for the chickens and dogs (not so keen on the roosters, but the kids were very much entertained by Daddy pulling out some ninja moves on them!) Jack and Phoebe were absolutely loving the baby chicks in the living room, especially as another one hatched yesterday morning. It was while I was feeding and watering them that I noticed the lightbulb in the heat lamp had blown, which sent me into a tailspin. It was already cold and the chicks were huddling up which meant they were cold too. My first thought was "Ohmygodohmygodohmygod the chicks are going to die!!!!"

Ok, keep calm, I thought, you're a grown-up. What do I do? Phone my mum?? Nope, wrong emergency. O-kay - phone my sister! I took the chicks down to Maisie's room and put them next to the little heater in there, covered the box with a blanket (?) and shut the door.  I phoned my sister who used to be a vet nurse and is just amazing with animals, not matter what species they are! She knows absolutely everything there is to know about animals, will handle anything at all with aplomb, and is my go-to person for any beast-related crisis. Unfortunately I caught her commuting to her job (well I suppose I couldn't really expect her to drive from Keysborough to Boronia to take care of the problem, could I? Could I?) so she suggested I just get a replacement bulb as soon as I could and keep the chicks in a warm room until then. So far, so good. I then checked with the Wild's, who said exactly what my sister had said! Excellent. I chucked the kids in the car, found a replacement red lightbulb, and spent the rest of the day checking the chicks for signs of their ill-treatment.  Apart from one very quiet little chicky, they all seemed happy enough.

This morning I was woken by Jack lifting my eyelids and telling me very excitedly that another baby chick had hatched! We left the new little baby in the incubator while we went out for the day, and only returned in time for the children's bedtime. Pyjamas were put on, teeth were brushed, dogs were fed, hens locked away, chicks fed and watered, you know, the usual. We were in the midst of the usual bedtime chaos ("No, you may not stay up and play Lightning McQueen" "Yes, you can have a story but only when you're lying down" "Maisie, for goodness sake, the boob does not stretch that far") when I noticed the smoke billowing in the living room. The heat lamp to keep the chicks warm had fallen down onto the sawdust in the box. The entire clamp that held it in place had disintegrated!! The sawdust was already smoldering and the room was full of smoke, and the poor little chicks were huddled in a corner of the box cheeping very, very fast! I swallowed a swear word, grabbed the lamp out of the box and threw the water bowl onto the sizzling sawdust. Christian ran around opening windows while I grabbed another box and threw the chicks (gently) into the new box and took the old one outside. Jack kept asking, "Are the chicks all dead? Are we going to die?" (Did a swear word pop out without my knowledge?) Phoebe kept running around in glee, as I think she thought bedtime had been postponed indefinitely. Maisie kept on eating her toy monkey, so obviously she had been traumatised by the whole experience. Once we had the chicks safely ensconced next to the heater (again) and the kids in bed, I cleaned out the scorched sawdust, and Christian drove to a 24 hour KMart to buy a new lamp!

The chicks are now happily cheepcheepcheeping around their clean box, under a new lamp that cannot fall on them, and Christian and I are sitting white-haired together on the couch. I am so very, very grateful that the lamp waited to fall until we were home, or this may have been a lot worse! And as for my poor quiet little chick? I moved her back into the incubator only minutes before the lamp fell as she was getting trampled by the others. She is sleeping a lot, and I don't think she will survive. I sat and held her for a while, trying to give a little comfort and love in the absence of her real mummy, and she curled up in my hand and tucked her little beak into my palm. I feel so completely helpless that I cannot do anything for this little baby. I know how helpless I feel when my own babies are sick, and this tiny chick is so fragile compared to my robust children. I can only hope that she gets the rest she needs in the quiet incubator, and that this will be enough to get her through the night. Or if she passes away, I hope it's quick and painless for the poor little mite. It's entirely possible I may be explaining what death is and where heaven is at breakfast tomorrow morning. I think the kids will probably deal with it better than I will! At least the other chicks can go to sleep without any fear of becoming fried chicken...oh lordy, who'd want a boring life?