Easter Chicks

My brother and I get Easter chicks. Down so soft. Dyed pastels - one purple, one blue. One day they are no longer chicks.

"They're hateful. They peck my feet when I'm hanging the wash," Mom complains.

Then the ultimatum. "They go or I go."

At dinner, Dad says that some of the under feathers still showed the original dye. My brother grabs a drumstick, but I can't eat.

mom happy
with the new craze
pet rocks