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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