We all know just how much of a bird lover I am. Once, several years ago, Mr. Philately batted his big blue eyes and convinced me that it would be okay to buy two parakeets. Sure, it was okay for HIM. For me, well, at best owning Dumb and Dumber (aka Pete and Bud) has been just this side of tolerable. Only within the last two weeks or so have I really grasped that even after I no longer am responsible for the children, I likely will be responsible for the birds. It�s been traumatic.

So why exactly is there a baby chick in Kat�s room? Yes, I know it�s only for a month. Yes, I know it is for science class and we all know how much I support education. But why can�t Mr. S, the teacher of Advanced Placement Biology, find something better for his students to do in the month after the AP exam and before the end of school than raise chickens?

Kat brought the little thing home from school on Friday. She walked in the door with a shoebox, looking like she was holding precious cargo. Now, unlike some of the girls, she grasps that this chicken is not going to then go to a chicken farm and live a long and happy life. She has spent enough time in rural areas to know the odds of that scenario. But she does not care. She is a teenager and living for today. Me, I�m living for the end of school so that I can be rid of the chicken.

We knew the annoying animal was coming. Mr. Philately had retrieved the old fish tank from the basement but when Kat arrived home, I immediately grasped that it would not work. The sides were too high. True, it would keep the chick in and IN is very important to me. But the sides were too high for me to place a lamp with a light bulb that would warm the area enough for the chick. I would prefer to give the chick back alive. I do not want any group after me for chicken abuse. What would the neighbors think? (Actually, who cares what the neighbors think? The one on the right is crazy and the other one barely speaks English.)

So now we have a box, a warm lamp, a peanut butter jar lid of feed, and a popcorn tin lid full of water. Day, never one to let simple settings suffice, has taken three boxes and fashioned a chicken run for an occasional chicken treat. (Hmmm� that didn�t come out right. I meant a treat for the chicken. The only treat for me would be the return of the chicken.)

I would hope that the chick is smarter than the birds but I am not confident. The first day it was here, it fell in its water and almost went to sleep there. While I know chickens are not highly intelligent birds, and this one is quite young, I somehow had hoped for more.

So now I have one more bird to tolerate: a small chick named Chicklet.

Oh, well, at least the kids are having fun. (And how many times do you think I will mutter that to myself in the next month?)

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