April 3, 2009
Each spring, one dozen chicken eggs are delivered to my sons' preschool. The eggs incubate for a week or two and then they hatch. Before returning to the farm, the baby chicks are brought out of their caged enclosures for a brief meet and greet with eighteen hyperventilating five year-olds who have to be told repeatedly to not squeeze, and to pet the bird with only one finger.
According to unreliable sources (my sons), after the preschoolers sit Indian-style on the friendship mat, a single chick is plopped into each of their crotches. This year, the chick belonging to one little girl promptly jumped over the barrier and made a break for it, eventually finding refuge under a bookcase. The chick sitting in Kellen's lap took a big dump.
The preschool teacher apologized profusely at pick-up, as she should. My son was devastated.
The suffering we all have endured is immeasurable. I think I'm going to sue.
Last call for the swimsuit giveaway! The contest ends TONIGHT at midnight EST.