Then my father said, “Look here, Julianna. You can see the embryo.” He held the flashlight and egg out so I could see.
I looked inside and he said, “See the dark spot there? In the middle? With all the veins leading to it?”
“The thing that looks like a bean?” “That’s it!” Suddenly it felt real. This egg was alive.
I quickly checked the rest of the group. There were little bean babies in all of them!
Surely they had to live. Surely they would all make it!
Dad? Can I take the incubator inside? It might get too cold out here at night, don’t you think?
I was going to suggest the same thing. Why don’t you prop open the door? I’ll carry it for you.
For the next two weeks I was completely consumed with the growing of chicks.
I labeled the eggs A, B, C, D, E, and F, but before long they had names, too: Abby, Bonnie, Clyde, Dexter, Eunice, and Florence.
Every day I weighed them, candled them, and turned them.
I even thought it might be good for them to hear some clucking, so for a while I did that, too, but clucking is tiring!
It was much easier to hum around my quiet little flock, so I did that, instead.
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