I came outside to say hi to the kiddos and found little Oo Wah Tah, an almost-two-year-old, with a little chick in her hands. She was gripping it as most two-year-olds would, and the chick looked a little uncomfortable. His feathers were ruffled and he looked like he was struggling to breathe.
I encouraged her to put the chick down; the other kids translated. She looked at me like I was crazy, why would she let this little treasure go? I urged her on, to put the little chick down to play and find his mom.
She considered my words and expression carefully.
And then she threw it.
She just chunked the little guy with full two-year-old force–at least three or four feet to the left and then off the porch, so at least three feet down. Let’s just the chick looked startled, more ruffled, and was now only using one little chicken leg.
I’m sure I gasped loudly, and then continued to gasp as other kids gathered around to “help” him–I was trying to tell them to just let him be to find his mother.
This is when Stephen said it’d probably be best if I just went inside. Poor little chick.