ke she wanted
a tractor and a goat。 “Please； Mom？” I whispered as
we parked at the curb。 “Please？”
She covered her face。 “Where are we going to raise chickens； Juli？ Where？”
“In the backyard？” I didn't know what else to suggest。
“What about Champ？”
“They'll get along； Mom。 I'll teach him。 I promise。”
My dad said softly； “They're pretty self…sufficient； Trina。”
But then the boys piped up with； “Champ'll piss 'em to death； Mom；” and suddenly they were
on a roll。 “Yeah！ But you won't even notice 'cause
they're yellow already！” “Whoa！ Yellow Already—cool name。” “That could work！ But wait—
people might think we mean our bellies！” “Oh； yeah—
forget that！” “Yeah； just let him kill the chicks。”
My brothers looked at each other with enormous eyes and started up all over again。 “Kill the
Chicks！ That's it！ Get it？” “You mean like we're chick
killers？ Or like we kill the chicks？”
Dad turned around and said； “Out。 Both of you； get out。 Go find a name elsewhere。”
So they scrambled out； and the three of us sat in the car with only the gentle peep…peep…
peep from my little flock breaking the silence。 Finally my
mother heaved a heavy sigh and said； “They don't cost much to keep； do they？”
My dad shook his head。 “They eat bugs； Trina。 And a little feed。 They're very low…
maintenance。”
“Bugs？ Really？ What sort of bugs？”
“Earwigs； worms