One Cute Chick

Bomgaars is the closest thing we have to a zoo in our “city”. Oh wait. Second closest. Earl May is the closest, what with their lizards, spiders, fish, rabbits, fish and lots and lots of rodents. What I like about Bomgaars this time of year is their seemingly endless parade of poultry, whether ducks, chickens or geese. Even better? All in the convenient fit-in-the-palm-of-your-hand sizes.

Today, along with my mother, we decided to detour our return home from daycare and stop by and give Aitch her first introduction to the babies. She squealed in delight as she peeked over the rim of each rubber tank and saw dozens of chicks peeping and scurrying about. Unfortunately, there were no ducks or geese, but a nice variety of chicks.

On each of the tubs, there were signs that stated that the young poultry were delicate so please do not handle. They haven’t had the signs in the past, but I can understand why they had them up. I’ve seen kids mob the chicks by literally hanging over the tub’s rim and intentionally chasing them from one end to the other by waving their arms, or blowing on them, and even thumping the tub’s side. I also knew I wanted Aitch to pet a chick.

So, being the nonconformist I am, I deftly reached in and scooped up one up without hardly a flutter from it or any of the others close by, thanks to 18 years experience of dealing with such critters. Aitch giggled in delight as the chick was now eye-level with her. She tentatively touched its head with her finger while she repeated my instructions to “be nice” (“niiiiiiiicce”).

It was a very sweet moment…

One ruined by the elderly gentleman who muttered gruffly under his breath, but loud enough for me to hear, after his grandson observed out loud, “Look. The sign says not to touch, but she picked one up!”:

“She must not be able to read.”

I chose to ignore him, but I should have said, “I may not be able to read, but I’m not fucking deaf.”

Our day at the “zoo”, ruined by a passive-aggressive drive-by.