So Champ became an outside dog, and he might have been our only pet ever if it hadn’t been for my fifth-grade science fair.
Everyone around me had great project ideas, but I couldn’t seem to come up with one.
Then our teacher, Mrs. Brubeck, took me aside and told me about a friend of hers who had chickens,
and how she could get me a fertilized egg for my project.
“But I don’t know anything about hatching an egg,” I told her. She smiled and put her arm around my shoulders.
“You don’t have to be an immediate expert at everything, Juli. The idea here is to learn something new.”
“But what if it dies?” “Then it dies. Document your work scientifically and you’ll still get an A, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
An A? Being responsible for the death of a baby chick—that’s what I was worried about.
Suddenly there was real appeal in building a volcano or making my own neoprene or demonstrating the various scientific applications of gear ratios.
But the ball was in motion, and Mrs. Brubeck would have no more discussion about it.
She pulled The Beginner’s Guide to Raising Chickens from her bookshelf and said,
“Read the section on artificial incubation and set yourself up tonight. I’ll get you an egg tomorrow.”
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