I wrote my own essay about the chick many years later, for a high-school English class.
In a school essay, my sister described this experience as her “first confrontation with death.” But he soon grew into a rooster, shedding feathers and shitting on the furniture, so our grandfather had a housekeeper take him home to kill for dinner. G would place him on her shoulder and listen to him cheep into her ear.
The bird had a pale-yellow coat and tiny, vigilant eyes. When my older sister, G, was a child, she bought a pet chick from a street vender near our family’s home in Ankara, Turkey.
