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The Barred Rock Chick by Shirle McNeal

The cold damp chill of the spring wind seeped into the old doctor's bones as he trudged toward the farm house. It was late in the afternoon after a long day with sick patients, especially those desperate families that had been visited by the Great Flu epidemic. Dr. Wilson knocked at the door which was immediately opened by the worried father.

"Come in, Doctor, come in. They're right there in the bed room." Will announced nervously.

The doctor glanced over toward the open door, seeing the corner of the bed with its homemade quilt. He approached the door as quickly as his tired bones would take him. Seated on the bed, the tense form of the mother displayed her anxiety while at the center of the bed a small form lay limply in the covers. In a wicker rocking chair sat a little girl wide-eyed with curiosity and a touch of fear.

Quickly, the doctor set down the worn black bag typical of his profession and removed his coat. "Let me examine little George, Mrs. Cole, and see what the trouble is." She rose from her place to make room for him.

The doctor went right to his work, his skilled hands feeling the fevered brow, thumping the chest, and all the other diagnostic actions. George moaned softly but did not resist in any way. Fever and illness had taken control of his mind and transported him far away from reality. "How old is the boy by now, Ma'am," asked the doctor, remembering the snowy December delivery. "Oh, he's past three years old now. and he's never given me a day's trouble. Oh, doctor, what is the matter with him? Will he be all right? He is so pale and weak." The mother stifled a small sob.

"Well, Ma'am, I'm not right sure about it. He is real poorly, for certain. I just don't know." The doctor placed the unresisting little body over his lap. The arms and legs dangled limply. The straight red hair hung down and the blue eyes rolled back into the sockets. It was obvious that the boy was losing the race for his life.

In the corner, the child-size rocker let out a small squeak. Zodie Mae stared in complete fascination at the intriguing scene but felt that the rag doll on the doctor's lap surely could not be her brother and playmate. Heat waves emanated from the feverish body to lightly touch the girl's cheek. Fright and confusion mingled with the sense of her mother's fear made Zodie upset. Trying to avoid speaking or moving, she bit her lower lip and kept her hands tightly clutching the chair. Slowly she moved the rocker back and forth without being aware of doing so. The doctor was only called in emergencies and Zodie could not remember a time when he had come before. Too absorbed in watching the action to speak, her big brown eyes took in the scene as if watching a performance.

"Seeing as how George is in such bad shape, there's only one thing that I can do," sighed the medical man. Reaching deeply into his all-purpose bag, his hand came out clutching a hypodermic needle. He quickly filled the fluid chamber and prepared to use the needle point with its glistening drop of liquid. "Oh, no, doctor, what is it?" cried Nora, in fear of such unaccustomed remedies. "It's the anti-serum, Mrs. Cole. I have not used it before but it is supposed to work when nothing else can." He rolled the little boy over to face the floor. Pulling down the pajama pants a little, the bright pink miniature mounds that formed the little buttocks became exposed. Grasping the needle firmly, the old man quickly pushed the sharpness of the needle into the unresisting soft flesh.

Some time later in the warmth of a spring evening, Zodie watched the little chicks be put away for the night with their clucking mothers. One barred rock chick hopped away and the girl ran to catch him. "Peep, Peep," the tiny ball of speckled fluff expressed his feelings of alarm. Stroking him gently, the girl enjoyed the soft delicacy of the small creature, and it began to cuddle into her palm. "Oh, wouldn't George love to see this baby chick," thought the older sister. She quickly ran to the house while trying to contain the wriggling bit of fuzz in her hands.

She went to her parents' bedroom window and held up the chick as high as she could. Her small hands reached only a few inches above the windowsill. In great excitement she cried, "Look, oh look George, see the little chick I have brought!" The silent figure sat motionless in the rocking chair. Half-open eyes stared dully from the pale face still etched by disease. There had been few voluntary bodily movements for the strength had returned only sluggishly to his muscles. The cruel bonds of illness enveloped him and only reluctantly released their clutching grasp. His mind considered Zodies's beseeching invitation. The thought of seeing a baby chick was a powerful draw. Slowly, his body began to follow the directions of his mind and the little feet reached for the floor.

His sister was waiting for her brother to react, but her attention was on the little chick which was beginning to resist the imprisonment of fingers. She began to be aware that her mother and older sister were returning from the evening chores on this fine day. Their voices echoed pleasantly along the tender green sprouts on the pathway.

"Mama, Mama! Oh, oh, Mama! Hurry, come and see! George is walking! I see him!" Shrieking with joy and excitement, Zodie glanced up through the window screen to see the small tousled head stretching eagerly to see the tiny animal.

"Can it be possible after so long?" Eager but doubting thoughts racing in her mind, deeper lines of worry and stress on her face, Nora flew along the pathway, but not nearly fast enough to placate her desire to see the miracle that the little barred rock chick had wrought.

Shirle McNeal [email protected]

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