All of the keets are growing by leaps and bounds, except one. This little one (on the right) never grew at all. He tried though. Until this morning he was running and eating and drinking and snuggling with the rest. I went down a few minutes ago to give them clean water. The other keets ran over and around the bitty one and he fell onto his side. He struggled and couldn’t right himself. Two keets ran over and pecked at his feet. I picked him up and held him in my hand. He slowly closed his eyes and drew no more breath. I’m glad I was there and was the last thing he saw.
I’m not a farmer. I’ve never owned chickens or other fowl before. The keets are not my pets, but I am their caregiver and they think I’m their mother. It’s my job to teach them to eat and drink (both done successfully) and to keep them safe. There’s not a lot more I can teach them, because I don’t eat bugs or roost in trees. I can see that they seem to know what to do. It gives me such joy to watch them as they hop about and shoot across the little enclosure they call home, learning to exercise their wings. I enjoy sitting with them and watching them. I tried to sketch them, but they don’t stay still very long.
There are 28 remaining keets, all happy and thriving.