weed] the little red HEN 305 



"I was born the first day of April, nineteen hundred and eight, 

 on a large chicken farm on Long Island. I was hatched with 

 several dozen other chicks in an incubator and I assure you we 

 were queer looking things at first. By the way, were you 

 hatched in an incubator? Xo? It is an interesting process. 

 After the eggs are put in the hatcher and the little chicken in- 

 side the shell becomes too large for it, it picks a little hole in the 

 shell from the inside and when the hole is large enough, it pushes 

 its way out of the shell. \\'hen the eggs are hatched by the 

 true mother hen. as soon as she hears her little chick picking 

 to get out, she helps it make this hole in the shell with her beak. 

 But it was not thusly with us. Yes, we were queer looking 

 things, very weak, not even able to hold up our heads, while we 

 looked as though we had been drowned. Nevertheless, as the 

 heat in the hatcher dried us, we grew stronger, while our few 

 feathers grew downy and soft and began to grow out 'til we 

 looked like yellow puff balls. I say yellow, for most of us were 

 of that color, but I remember one that was real dark and several 

 that had dark stripes over their backs. But these were few in 

 comparison. After we were quite hatched we were taken out 

 and given some bread crumbs to eat. We soon learned to feed 

 and to drink, too. though I must admit, we fell into the pan 

 innumerable times and got more water on the outside than 

 within. Nothing could discourage us. though. Every day we 

 came to look more and more like full-fledged chickens. By this 

 time you could see our wing feathers beginning to look less 

 fluffy near the base and more like little quills. Soon we could 

 relish cracked corn and from that day on we grew rapidly, but 

 not without obstacles to overcome. 



'"There is a most dreadful disease which young chicks are sub- 

 ject to. Especially is this so on farms and fruit places where 

 chicken raising is not made the sole business of the owner. This 

 I learned in my second home of which I shall speak later. The 

 disease is commonly known as the gapes. In such a case the 

 unfortunate's windpipe becomes clogged and in his effort to 

 breathe he yawns at almost every breath. If something is not 

 done to cure this the patient will die. The old-fashioned method 

 used by small chicken holders is to soak a long quilled feather in 

 kerosene, to thrust this down the windpipe and bv a twisting 

 motion to dislodge the evil member. The first application, if 

 successful, rids the chicken of his distress and he goes on his 

 way rejoicing. 



"After four months, during which time we had graduated to 



