Chapter 1: Of Pullets and Parables

Our tale begins one recent summer day on the northwest side of Chicago. An industrious woman, one Chick Little, sits on the stoop of her building. Having spent the last two months caring for Tammy (a bantam rescue hen of unknown lineage), and researching breeds that might be suitable companions for Tammy, our heroine not-so-patiently awaits the postal worker who will bring her choices—one Buff Orpington and one Silver-Laced Wyandotte. Each of these breeds is known for its docility, sociable nature and tolerance of confinement (especially important when living on the roof of a garage in the middle of a city with a couple of million other inhabitants).

The sun is shining. Birds are singing. Children skip merrily down the street. Squirrels are washing Ms. Little's car. Finally, the mailman arrives and hands Chick the cardboard box that contains her new charges—along with EIGHT of their closest friends.

Though Ms. Little repeatedly requested of the hatchery that they only send two chicks due to space limitations (as sending additional chicks for warmth is a common occurrence), and the hatchery repeatedly assured Chick that her two chicks would be accompanied only by a heat pack and each other, a mistake was made. Or the eight extras were more abundant than heat packs on shipping day.

So instead of two bottoms being checked for pasting up, ten were checked. (No pasting up!) Ten beaks were dipped into the water dish to ensure they knew where to go to get a much-needed drink. And ten chicks were placed into the large cardboard box that was hurriedly put in place of the aquarium that would have been a perfect brooder for two chicks but, due to its small size, would have been a feather-pecking disaster for ten.

Moral No. 1:  The sky is falling indeed. And apparently it's made of chicks—really, really cute chicks.