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.
As there were three fourth grade classrooms, several of my former students would have me 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 amidst of 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 class in seventh grade.
Mr. Runion had provided a special interest class on the stages of chicken development that stuck with 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 encouraged drawings also. A former student told me years later that her egg notebook inspired her artwork and now she owns and runs a private art school.
The eggs had to be rotated or turned each day just like a mother hen would do. Several students showed up on weekends to help with the chore. Turning the window eggs was limited and they didn’t make it to hatching. One of the three died quickly and I suggested I might have not sterilized my instruments 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 its 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. 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 his 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 the classroom. We had to establish a few rules for this to work. The first rule pertained to if Buster relieved himself, nearest your desk, you cleaned it up. Several times we had rulers out to check to see which desk was the shortest distance away. Math became practical in an every day problem. We also agreed to keep our door closed to keep Buster confined to our room. Students took turns getting to feed him.
Each morning I would release Buster from his cage and he then followed me down the hall to pick up my mail. He was, fortunately, quite the hit among the staff. The custodian even enjoyed him at night when he cleaned our room. The custodian reported various antics he had observed from Buster for our entertainment.
This delightful arrangement could not last forever. The principal came into my room one day after school. He came to tell me the annual check by the health official would be happening in two weeks. The health official’s duty was 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 be a possible health problem such an official should report.
I discussed the situation with the class the next day. 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 and his 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 the neighbors. The town had an ordinance against raising chickens within the town limits. Now we again had to 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 for a look. Buster was now a full-grown Rhode Island Red and 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 the 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!
952 words
6/11/2016
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