Horse Feathers (10 page)

For a moment Stevie felt herself go weak in the knees, then decided that as their only parental figure she couldn’t let something like adorable faces and large dark eyes keep her from making her point.

Stevie sat down cross-legged beside the brooder. “Okay, here’s the deal,” she said, doing her best to sound stern and parental. “No more day passes from the box. Understood?” Number One blinked, tilting his head slightly at her words. He was so cute that Stevie almost lost her train of thought.

Gathering her wits, Stevie said, “And don’t think that’s going to work on me. That. What you’re doing with your head, Number One. Or you, Number Five.
Don’t think that innocent, adoring little look that you’re giving me is going to work.”

Number Five quacked happily and ruffled his feathers, watching her with big doting eyes.

“Playtime will be restricted to home base, which in your case is Exhibit A.” Stevie pointed to the brooder. “See? Plenty of room. You’ve got your water dish over there, your food dish right there, nice warm snuggly heat coming off the bulbs. There’s absolutely no need to leave the box.

“This is your space. And that”—Stevie indicated the bedroom—“is my space. And contrary to what you may believe, my space is
not
your space. Are we clear on this?”

Stevie was answered with six pairs of eyes gazing at her lovingly. “Is that a yes?” she asked after a moment.

“Quack!” Number One seemed to answer for the group. Either that or he was just hungry.

“Good,” said Stevie. “I’m glad we’ve settled that.”

Stevie checked on the two wiggling eggs in the incubator, then grabbed her pillow off the bed and snuggled down next to the brooder. The lack of sleep from the night before was beginning to catch up with her, and watching Seven and Eight wiggle in the incubator was beginning to have a hypnotic effect. Pretty soon, she could barely keep her eyes open.

She blinked sleepily.
It wouldn’t hurt to close my eyes for just a few moments
, she thought. Especially since she knew it would still be a few hours before Seven and Eight hatched. Plus that way, she reasoned, she’d be able to stay up later in case any of the other goslings decided to hatch that night. With that thought, Stevie’s eyelids closed and she was instantly sound asleep.

Stevie thought she was dreaming. Something was tickling her face. It was soft and feathery and reminded her of when Alex teased her with a buttercup or a feather under her chin while she was sleeping. But these feathers were soft and warm against her cheek. Slowly, Stevie became aware of another sensation, a tickling of feathers against her hand where it rested on her stomach.

Stevie’s mind slowly cleared from the foggy haze of sleep. She opened her eyes, disoriented for a moment. Then she saw the brooder and it all came back to her. But as she tried to move, her ear encountered a warm fuzzy mass of gosling fluff sharing the pillow next to her head. She very cautiously raised her head and glanced down her body. Sure enough, all six little goslings had somehow managed to escape the brooder and were now snuggled up next to her. One by her ear, one next to her cheek, one by her hand, and three in her arms.

Stevie laughed. It was the cutest sight she’d ever seen. “Okay, so much for the staying-in-the-box rule.”

She sat up, careful not to squash any of her little charges. But the moment Stevie moved, the goslings awoke and began honking at her for disturbing their warm bed. “Sorry, guys, but one of us still has homework to do.” She paused. “And, let me remind you, homework from the night before as well. So, everybody up.”

As she placed the six quacking little goslings back in their nursery, she realized that she was going to have to make the brooder larger and taller, since the goslings could escape so easily as it was. Plus, she’d read that goslings grew quite quickly and would likely outgrow the box completely in a few weeks. The goslings quacked indignantly at being returned to their box. It seemed that they much preferred Stevie’s space to theirs.

“Much as I’d like to stay and chat,” Stevie told them, “if I plan to get to bed early tonight, I need to get my homework done.” She turned toward her desk. Then, as an afterthought, she added, “And stay put.”

Surprisingly enough, the goslings immediately nestled down, their innocent little faces staring up at her, their eyes wide with curiosity.

Stevie moved to her desk, opening her history book as she sneaked a quick peek toward the incubator.
Seven and Eight were wiggling madly now, and Stevie knew it wouldn’t be much longer before they hatched. Maybe it would be enough time to get her reading done. She quickly flipped to the correct page to pick up where she’d left off the other night, before any of the eggs had started hatching.

When Stevie looked up from the Napoleonic Wars a short while later, she was quite surprised to find all six goslings shuffling around on her biology book, which was on the floor near her feet. Number One was circling the group like a herder, trying to keep them in order. And Number Three kept trying to escape the herd, only to be rounded up by Number One and shuffled back to the group.

It was clear to Stevie that the goslings wouldn’t be contained. It would be much simpler, she decided, to let them wander around her room for the time being. She’d just clean up their little calling cards until she was able to build a bigger box.

“You win,” said Stevie. “Just don’t make too much of a mess. And Number One, as the oldest member of the group, it’s your job to keep everyone together.” Number One quacked responsibly, and, Stevie thought, with a new air of authority.

It also occurred to Stevie that she really should
name the little tykes. She looked at Number One. He was bossy—just like an older brother, she mused. He was always trying to make his siblings do what he was doing. And Two always seemed to be getting into trouble. For instance, he’d somehow managed to get his beak stuck under the front cover of the biology book. Number Four (who seemed to come to Two’s rescue often) got him unstuck by pushing him slightly to one side and backward. Number Three got turned around easily and was the one that Stevie ended up looking for the most. Even now he was headed away from the group as if striking out on an adventure. But before he made it two feet, Number One brought him under control and returned him to the group.

How was Stevie ever going to come up with suitable names for all of them? The more she thought about it, the odder it seemed to call them anything but Numbers One through Six. She watched the goslings for a moment, then made up her mind.

“You guys are officially dubbed Numbers One through Six,” she announced. The goslings quacked in response, which Stevie took to be a type of acceptance.

That settled, Stevie selected a pencil from among the few lying on the floor and began answering her homework
questions relating to the Napoleonic Wars. She was only partway through the first question when she was interrupted by a chorus of excited quacks. She looked down to see all six goslings chewing on the rest of the pencils.

“I think I’ll take those,” said Stevie, quickly gathering up the pencils. Pencils certainly couldn’t be good for newborns.

However, as she reached for the last of the pencils, she realized it was attached to Number Six, who had the eraser held firmly in his beak. “Hey, you, let go.”

The gosling took a step backward, tugging on the pencil. He seemed quite unprepared to give it up until Number One honked angrily at him. Number Six released the pencil, madly fluffing up his feathers in what Stevie could only describe as a goose fit.

“Thank you, Number One,” said Stevie. She placed the pencils on her desk, then thought better of it and moved them to a drawer, closing it firmly. “At the rate you guys are growing, you’ll be up here in no time at all.” The goslings responded with a harmony of quacks.

Stevie pushed her history book away and checked the incubator. “Well, hello,” she said to Numbers Seven and Eight, who had now completed the hatching process and
were strutting around the warm incubator in a wobbly, unbalanced way, ruffling their damp feathers as they waited impatiently for Stevie to notice them.

Very gently, Stevie removed the goslings from the incubator and placed them in the brooder beneath the warm lightbulbs. Then she replenished the food and water, which immediately became the main attraction for Numbers Seven and Eight.

“As soon as you two are strong enough,” Stevie told them, “you can come out and play with the rest of your brothers and sisters.”

Numbers One through Six gathered on Stevie’s biology book, watching her attend to the newborns.

Stevie crossed back to her desk, noticing that as she did, the goslings all shuffled slightly to the left to keep her in view, their big dark eyes fixed on her every movement. As she took a seat in the chair, the goslings settled down into a ruffled mass of feathers, their necks craned upward to keep an eye on Stevie.

Stevie glanced at her watch. It was already eight o’clock. She really needed to get her homework done and get to bed or she’d end up just as tired the next day as she’d been that day. With that thought in mind, she pulled her history book toward her and began
rereading the first question at the end of the chapter. Once she settled into the work, it only took her another half hour to complete the questions.

Relieved that she’d finally made it through her history homework, Stevie closed the book with a thud. She stood up and stretched, reaching toward the ceiling with her fingertips as she straightened out her back. She figured she’d earned a five-minute break, enough to take a short trip to the bathroom, before moving on to her English homework. All she had to do was make it through two chapters of
Animal Farm
and then she could call it a night.

Stevie walked across the room, pausing at the sudden commotion behind her. She turned to see what the goslings were up to. Numbers Seven and Eight had politely remained in the box, being much too interested in sleeping to care what the rest of their siblings were up to. Numbers Two through Six, however, were at the mercy of Number One, who seemed to be quacking orders at them. Stevie laughed. It reminded her of her and her brothers.

“I think I might nickname you Chad,” she said to Number One. Number Three tried to make a run for it, but One quickly intercepted, quacking ferociously. Three meekly returned to the group.

Stevie opened the door and stepped out into the hall. As she turned to close the door, she noticed that the goslings had fallen into single file, with Number One leading the group toward the door. “That’s far enough, guys,” said Stevie.

The little band of goslings continued their forward march, quacking at Stevie.

Knowing that her mother was unlikely to be amused by gosling droppings in the hallway, Stevie carefully shut the door before the goslings could reach her. There was a moment of silence on the other side, immediately followed by the loud, indignant quacks of six offended goslings.

B
Y
F
RIDAY EVENING
of the next week, several things had become perfectly clear. The first was that Stevie had become the adoptive parent of eight very healthy and very active goslings, all of whom had decided that she was their mother. They followed her every movement with rapt attention and gazed at her adoringly every chance they got. If Stevie sat at her desk, the goslings sat at her feet. If Stevie crawled into bed, the goslings cuddled up next to her.

The second thing that had become clear was that an entire week had passed without any sign of a wiggle from the four remaining eggs. The accompanying literature said that it was possible that not all of the eggs
would hatch. The book also gave instructions on how to candle the eggs to see if they were healthy or not. Although it was a task that Stevie was dreading, she realized it needed to be done.

“Thanks for helping me out with this, guys,” she said gratefully.

Lisa and Carole had arrived a short time earlier. The three girls were now in Stevie’s bedroom, sitting by the incubator. The eight little goslings were, for once, seated quietly.

“That’s what The Saddle Club is for,” Lisa replied gently.

Stevie closed the window blinds and shut off the light. Once the room was in total darkness, the girls took one egg at a time and held it in front of a flashlight. The literature provided several different diagrams, explaining what a healthy egg should look like. It also gave examples of what they termed “bad eggs,” in which a small dark spot could be seen in the middle of the egg, indicating an expired peep.

After they checked the last egg, Lisa clicked off the flashlight and Stevie turned the bedroom light back on. They’d identified a small dark spot in each of the four eggs, and Stevie knew now there was no hope that the remaining eggs would hatch.

“That’s it, then,” Stevie murmured, surprised that the thought of the last four eggs not hatching bothered her so much. But, she reasoned, she had watched them and loved them, even though they were just eggs. And now the realization that they would never join their siblings saddened her.

Aware that this would likely be the outcome, Stevie had already gotten her father’s permission to bury the eggs in the backyard. Lisa, Carole, and Stevie now made their way out to the backyard with the eggs tucked carefully into a small basket. They were crossing the lawn when a sudden indignant quack from behind halted them in their tracks. The girls turned to see all eight goslings desperately waddling single file and flapping their wings in a not-so-graceful attempt to keep pace with Stevie’s walk.