Yesterday I ran into the first new-born chickens in the neighborhood. This always inspires the feeling of spring in me, although it must be said that the chickens near my house have new offspring about every two months, except maybe in the winter.
Anyway, this morning I suddenly painted this chicken and he reminded me of the time when we got some new-born chickens when I was a child. We children got them from someone, without our parents knowing about it. So we got home with this box with four or five of the cutest and softest yellow balls in it.
I remember the frowned face of my mother. We got the lecture about having to take very good care of them all by ourselves and we could keep them ‘for a while’. It didn’t take very long before the cute balls turned into big, noisy and stinky chickens that we as children couldn’t contain anymore. We were actually a bit afraid of them.
One day they were gone, I guess to a place better fit for chickens. My mother was a wise woman to let us keep them ‘for a while’ and it was okay for us to lose these pets. They weren’t as suitable to cuddling as they seemed to be in the beginning.