As a small child, perhaps to soften the blow of getting a brother, I was given a whole bunch of chickens. Very small, fluffy ones. I named them after the Pooh Bear characters.  I credit my mother for being ever patient, and a bit of an animal whisperer, because even as a child, my imagination was wild.

I loved my chickens and thought they should be able to fly. So I put them on my swing and gave them a really big push. They promptly fell off, and some of them broke their legs. My mother splinted them with matchsticks, and they survived!

Swimming lessons in the toilet didn’t go so well, especially when I created excitement by flushing the toilet. My mother rescued them, resuscitated them, and warmed them up in front of the woodstove.

They all survived to adulthood, surprisingly! All I wanted was for them to be able to live my dreams.