Page 34 of Wolves & Watercolors
She goes back to her sketch, and I jog back the way I came, turning south toward the supply store. A special package should have been delivered in the early hours this morning. Sure enough, Fern types away on her laptop, a box with circular air holes covered in mesh sitting beside her elbow.
“Thanks!” I snag my package and walk back to my garden and Aurora. Soft cheeps emanate from the box. I pause in front of her and wait for her to look up. “Whenever you’re ready, would you follow me?”
Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Wait, are we going to the chicken coop?”
“Maybe.”
“I’m not sure about this.” Her voice jumps in pitch. She tucks her pencil into the spine of her sketchbook, freeing up her hands. She wrings them anxiously.
“You don’t have to go in, just stand outside. I think you’ll like my surprise.” My reassurances seem to work, because she sighs and scrambles up.
Having Aurora trusting me makes my chest puff with pride. We stop a few yards from the coop and I ease open the lid to reward that trust.
Inside, nine yellow balls of fluff teeter back and forth.
“Oh my gosh! They’re so cute!” Aurora bounces on the balls of her feet and covers her mouth with her hands. The excitement glittering in her eyes is all the reward I need. “Why do you have these?”
“We need to add a few hens to have enough eggs for everyone. Especially with baby Poppy getting old enough to eat solids and now baby Timber on the way.”
“And these little fuzzy nuggets are going to provide them?”
I snort at her phrasing. “That’s the idea. Do you want to hold one?”
“I’m just going to keep this one. It’ll live in my pocket, okay?”
She croons over the little chick, and I can’t help but smile. My plan is working and her fear over the birds is fading. “So chickens aren’t so bad?”
“Hey, I didn’t say that. That one almost attacked me.” Aurora pulls back and lifts her chin defiantly. A little chick peeps from within her hands. She lowers her face and whispers reassurances to the little bird.
“You did stick your face in her nesting box, and she’s broody,” I say.
“Broody?” She cocks her head, waiting for an explanation.
“She wants to hatch her eggs.”
“But you don’t have a rooster,” she says, her brows furrowing as she reluctantly lowers her chosen chicken back into the box with her siblings.
“Yeah, so she’s sitting on dummy eggs right now. Normally, when they get like this, we have to break it by separating the hen. Especially in the summer when she could get dehydrated. But since we are getting these little guys, I figured she would be the perfect mom.”
“You’re giving her the chicks?” She puts it together and I’m impressed.
“That’s the plan.”
“That’s so sweet. Can I help?”
“Yeah, they are a little over a day old already, so we need to get them under her right away.”
“Let’s do it!” She presses her lips together, the skin around her eyes crinkling as she smiles sheepishly.
We stare at each other for a moment, before I snap into action. Cautiously, I reach for the lid that reveals the nesting box the hen in question has been occupying all week.
“What’s her name?” Aurora bites her lip, eyeing the coop.
“Coq au Vin. We call her Coco.”
“Coco?” She echoes, looking relieved, as if a silly name makes the chicken less unnerving. The soft cheeps of the chicks seem to be relaxing her, bit by bit.
Slowly, I lift the outer lid to her box. Her dark head whips around, tilting to stare one eye at me. Taking a breath, I gently lift the first chick and show it to her. She blinks and lets out a soft trill.
