They called me bird girl

When I was in grade school, a small bird fell from a tree. Surely, knocked out unceremoniously by one of our huntress cats, as the baby’s mother fled the nest. There was nothing else for this young girl to do but try and save it. A shoebox turned into an empty aquarium, eye-droppers were purchased and slurry was mixed. It gets fuzzy after this point but I know I had to bring the aquarium and heating pad to school, so I could feed the bird during the day. I managed to keep it alive for a few days and along the way,  accumulated a nickname from a schoolmate.

Today, as I tied the last bit of bird netting to the top of the fence of the run for my new flock of chickens, I remembered my nickname from so many years ago. Bird girl. With that name in the front of my mind, I will need to back up a few steps to tell the story of how the back corner of the land we bought last year now houses a brand new coop, chicken run and 7 hens. And how I became a middle-aged first time chicken lady.

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