by Donna Swagerty Shreve
The year was 1969 and I had survived my first year of teaching. John, my husband, and I were living in Connecticut while John served his four year enlistment in the Coast Guard Band. The principal, Art Thompson, had asked me if I would like to move from my third grade position up to an opening in fourth grade. I readily accepted. I had always wanted to eventually teach fifth grade and I would now be that much closer to my goal. As there were two fourth grade classrooms, I was going to have about half of my former students again.
I wanted new and exciting things to do with this older group. One of those new projects became hatching chicken eggs. I had rummaged around in the old school’s basement as I heard there were some treasures down there. In among the junk, I found a working incubator. The next step was finding fertilized chicken eggs. A local farmer sold fertilized eggs and I bought a dozen.
I reached back into my own experience as a student and fondly recalled a very early morning elective class in Mr. Runion’s seventh grade. Mr. Runion had provided a special interest class on the stages of chicken development that stuck me since seventh grade. I also had found an article in the magazine “Scientific American” that detailed how to carefully cut a hole in the egg and glue Saran wrap over the hole to provide a window into the eggs’ development. I made windows into three of the eggs. I had each student set up a science notebook that described the day-by-day development of the dozen eggs. I also encouraged drawings. A former student told me years later at a small reunion that her egg notebook inspired her art work and she now owns and runs a private art school.
Rotating or turning the eggs just as a mother hen would do became a daily chore and several students showed up on weekends to help. Turning the eggs with windows was limited and those eggs didn’t make it to hatching. One of the three died quickly and I suggested I might have not sterilized as carefully as I thought I should have. The second egg only made it into the second week but long enough for us to see the beating heart. The last egg lived long enough for us to see the feathers developing and, by our calculations, only had a few days to go before it died.
Of the remaining nine eggs, that were not given windows, two hatched on the expected day and they were named Thumper and Buster. Thumper had been hatched with a broken or undeveloped wing and thumped quite a bit when he tried to move. Buster demonstrated the concept of pecking order as he pecked away at his crippled cage mate. Thumper had to be put out of her misery and that dirty deed was done by my reluctant husband on a weekend away from the classroom.
Buster grew quickly and had free range of our classroom. We had to establish a few rules for this to work. The first rule was if Buster relieved himself nearest your desk, you cleaned it up. Several times the students used rulers to to check to see which desk was the shortest distance away from Buster’s offering. We were early participants in theme learning. We also agreed to keep our classroom closed to keep Buster confined to our room. Students took turns feeding him. Each morning I released Buster from his large cage and he followed me down the long hall to pick up my mail in the school’s office. Fortunately Buster was quite a hit among the staff with his big personality. The custodian even enjoyed him at night when he cleaned our room. The custodian reported various antics he had observed from Buster when ever he saw me working after school in my classroom.
This delightful arrangement could not last forever. The principal came into my room one day after school. He was there to tell me the annual checkup by the health official would be happening in two weeks. The health official would be there to inspect the nurse’s room that was next to my room and give shots to any students who needed to update their inoculation records. Buster would now be a problem. We had two weeks to find a good home for Buster. Finally as the days ticked down, George Dallas’s parents had agreed to let Buster stay in their back yard. George’s father went to work and built a special cage for Buster with plans on how to accommodate him in the winter months coming up.
We were all convinced that Buster was quite special and it was no surprise that Buster learned to crow rather loudly. George, of course, gave frequent updates. The problem with Buster’s new skill was that it upset some of the neighbors. The town had an ordinance against raising chickens within the town limits. Now we had to again find a good home for Buster outside the town limits. How could we do that and not let Buster end up on someone’s dinner plate?
Word got out thanks to my desperate students. A local farmer heard about Buster and drove to George’s home for a look. Buster was now a full grown Rhode Island Red and definitely was beautiful. This farmer had 39 laying hens and wanted Buster for stud service. The class and I were thrilled. We made no attempt to keep in contact with that farmer as the Buster ending was perfect right there. I kept other classroom pets over the years but never again did I attempt keeping a chicken. How could it ever live up to Buster?
978 words
D. Shreve
9/10/2020
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