This story takes place when I was 11, about to turn 12. We had moved into a new house a year back, and the house had a yard with nearly 5 acres of land. The house's front yard had 4 sides: The entrances, the small house on one side, the large house on one side, and the back lot with about 3 or 4 acres of land. When we moved, we planned on getting livestock, because we didn't just move without reason. I got my first baby chicks when it was Christmas day. There were 6 chicks in the cage: 3 Ameraucanas, 3 Plymouth rocks. My sister claimed the three Plymouths, and I chose the Ameraucanas. The names of them were: Fancy, Speedy and Patriot. My sister could only think of one name at that time, "Moth Man" for the one that stared at a dead moth most of the time. The chickens were only 1 week old, so they weren't much bigger than 3 inches each. You could hold all 6 in your arms, and they would be happy, due to the fact they're always cold. The chicks were of the highest priority to me, and my sister simply discarded interest after a few days. I usually cleaned their cage once every few days, and each time they would be so happy to have it cleaned. A few weeks passed, and the chicks were growing very large. My family and I realized we needed to build a coop for them. So me and my dad spent 1 week erecting the best coop we could. Unfortunately, it was so large (At least 500 pounds) that it kind of had to sit there until we slid it to the next location with fresh grass. After a few more days, we put the chicks (now chickens) into the coop. The six were super happy to be able to have over 5 times the space of their cage, and that was their new home. In order to keep the chickens from running away, you need to establish their home by keeping them in it for a few days. After the days went by, they were allowed to wander the entire property. We did not know that this was a terrible mistake, because the only coverage in that field was a single medium sized tree. Any predator could see them from the sky. But this is not what happened. A different animal attacked. 2 of our pet dogs. I noticed when I saw Fancy staring at me through my window, making loud sounds. I decided to investigate, when I heard this chilling phrase. "Dottie is in the chicken coop!!!" Dottie is one of our pet dogs. She had dug under her fenced in dog yard. Our much larger dog had somehow gotten over/under the fence as well. One chicken was found dead, not a scratch on her body. Heart attack. Another was in Dottie's mouth. The third was by a tree, and I swear to this day, that poor creature was still alive, clinging on to what little life force it still had... But the worst part about all of this... was that all 3 of those chickens were the Plymouth Rocks. My sister was at a friend's house, so we had to call her and tell her the news. Later that hour, me and my mom dug up a spot behind a blooming cactus in our yard, and buried the poor lost chickens. I was not happy that day. I never smiled, I never didn't have puffy eyes, and worst of all, my favorite chicken, Patriot, had a severe issue with her. Her feathers were all ruffled, and she would not move an inch. She just stood in place, her eyes barely open. After a while, we somehow got into a vet's office (It was a Sunday) and took her in. We waited for an hour and a half longer than we needed to, and took her in. The vet went to get a thermometer, and took half an hour. I was beginning to question if this place was a waste of time. In the long run, it was. All she told us was that she was in shock. We already knew that, but she told us some helpful info. Keep Patriot in a cage with food and water, and keep dim lights on unless it is night time. For 4 days Patriot slowly recovered. After which she was fine. We only had 3 chickens now, and one was a rooster. We never got rid of him, because he might protect the hens. What we did do, is get 4 more chickens... To Be Continued