The ducks that looked like chickens

Michigan winters are brutal, but this was the coldest one on record in the last twenty years. Even though it was April, the ground was still freezing. But that didn’t mean the Ford children could stay inside. There were always chores that required doing on the family farm. Sally rolled over in bed and looked at the alarm clock. The red numbers glared back at her, blinking 4:45 a.m. She groaned and turned to look at the ceiling. This was the worst part of the day – when the bracing cold would soon be an inevitable reality. She could either stay in bed and savor the last few moments of warmth, only to spend the time dreading when the alarm would ring, or she could turn her alarm off now and get it over with. After pondering for a minute, she gathered all of her willpower and threw the warm quilt back, shivering instantly from the slap of the cold. Her small wiry frame required several layers to retain even an ounce of heat. She quickly pulled on a pair of wool socks over her long johns.

Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she saw a plain looking girl with flat blonde hair and a face full of freckles. She scrunched her nose at her reflection, but she didn’t have time to sit and ponder today whether or not she would ever be pretty. She went to go find her work clothes, crumpled in a corner of the room where she had taken them off yesterday. Trudging down the hallway to the bathroom, she was careful to avoid the floorboards that creaked. Although she could hear her father brewing coffee in the kitchen, and her brother Peter would be up shortly, her mother needed to sleep. Her cancer had cost the family their meager savings, and an able bodied worker. Sally had since taken over the chores originally done by her mother: milking the cows, churning the cream into butter, and collecting the eggs from the chickens.

The family had a small client base, those people who still held onto the value of family farms. Today was Thursday, which meant Mrs. Amsel would be by at about 7:00 for the eggs Sally would collect. Mrs. Amsel was her favorite customer, because instead of cash she paid the Fords in baked goods, a treat that had been missing ever since Mom came down with cancer. Mrs. Amsel swore the Ford’s eggs made all of her baked goods taste better, but Sally knew it was because Mrs. Amsel was an excellent baker. She didn’t think there was anything particularly special about their eggs, especially when she had to wrestle them from the chickens at 5:30 every morning.

Sally pulled on her boots and stepped out into the morning. The cold air caused her to gasp, but she stood for a moment in awe. The sun had not yet begun to rise, and the night was clear, revealing a smattering of stars. She stood there for a minute, only to be jolted back to reality by Peter slamming the door behind her.

“Race ya,” he yelled as he sprinted off towards the barn. Peter was older, but Sally was a natural runner, and she caught up to him as he reached the pig sty. Sally loved the pigs, causing her father to remove her from pig duty once she realized what became of them. She had refused to eat bacon for a year. Every spring when the piglets were born, she would go out and name all of them, begging and pleading on behalf of at least one pig from the litter. Her father did not recognize the desire of a pig as a pet, and tried to explain that the family could not afford to do without the income they brought in.

Sally hurried past the pigs and went over to the chicken coop. Anyone who thought pigs stank clearly had not spent time around chicken shit. Ducking down, she was welcomed by a flurry of feathers, and indignant squawks as she upset the hens from their nests. She gathered the eggs as quickly as possible, saying hello to each chicken by name as she did so. Sally had names for all of the animals on the farm. When she reached Henrietta, the chicken pecked her, defending the nest. Henrietta had been fussy lately, and rather than deal with the temperamental chicken, Sally usually just skipped her. But today she needed the eggs. Two of the other chickens had not laid any, and Mrs. Amsel liked to have two dozen. Henrietta was usually good for two eggs, so Sally gripped the chicken by the buttocks, wary of any pecks that might be sent in her direction. The chicken started to flap her wings ferociously, causing Sally to drop her on the ground. When she did so, she was startled not to find two eggs in the nest, but instead, she was greeted by two little tufts of yellow fur. So this was why Henrietta had been guarding her nest! As one stood up and playfully bit the other, Sally decided the two new members of the farm needed names. She decided upon George and Kevin, the names of each of the boys she thought were cute from school. Henrietta was throwing a fit back on the floor of the coop, so Sally picked her up and gingerly placed her back in nest. As the chicken readjusted herself, Sally could swear she glared up at her.