Things were complicated considerably when we got the chicks home. Suddenly they needed a box to live in outfitted with the heat lamp, feeder and waterer. We set their box up in the kitchen, but found that we didn't have anywhere to hang the heat lamp. So Eric stood, holding the heat lamp, fretting that the chicks were going to die. Every few minutes he'd say "Oh no, they're dying. I'm sure they're dying. This is horrible." Then, of course, the heat lamp broke. So I ran out to get them a new heat lamp. We decided that we couldn't keep them in the kitchen, since the kittens kept jumping on top of the chicken wire covering the box, and also because it was just downright impractical...
After we got them set up with water and food in the office (where the door could be closed) and had fretted for nearly two hours trying to get their heat lamp adjusted to where the temperature was in the 90's, we left them alone. Not for long, though... Every hour or so, Eric woke up and said "Are the chickens dead? They're dead aren't they? Oh god, this was a mistake... We don't know what we're doing!" Needless to say, they made it through their first night...
2 comments:
that sounds like eric :)
They told us that if we didn't keep them at least 90° they would die. They told us if they don't drink their water they would die. They told us if they don't eat they would die. They told us if they don't poop they would die. They didn't have to tell us that if the cats got at them they would die. Can you blame me for worring so much?
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