Four-year-old Margaret Joy looked down at the ground, crestfallen. Her long blond hair falling over her sweet, cherub face. Then, she looked up with a you-can't-do-me-in smile. "I think mine is prettiest! Yours has dirt on it's beak, and NO tail feathers!"

Seven-year-old Phoebe was shocked that her little cousin wasn't crying. "I don't care!" Phoebe quickly retorted, "Mine loves me and that's what is important!" Phoebe turned her back, folded her arms and put her nose in the air.

Margaret Joy picked up her blue-dyed baby chick, and began to pet its down. "Nice chickie, nice chickie; I love you," she sang.

Phoebe turned to look at her, surprised that she wasn't continuing the argument. "Margaret Joy, you shouldn't hold that chicken. Suppose it scratches you? You know what Aunt Celia said about it. Put it down!"

Margaret Joy walked away, still petting the chicken. "You're the bestest chickie in the whole world," she said, loud enough for Phoebe to hear, "And no other chickie is so soft."

Phoebe knew that she was older and wiser. She could lick this situation. She walked over to her pink-dyed baby chick, and picked it up. Then she wrapped a towel around it. "There Tulip," she said. "Now you can stay nice and warm, and I will feed you some nice chick food."

Margaret Joy turned around and called out, "But, I want to feed my chickie too!" She ran behind Phoebe all the way to the pen. "Where is the chickie feed?"

Phoebe didn't answer. She started talking to Tulip instead. "See Tulip? There is your family," she said, pointing at the other baby chicks. "You're lucky to have so many nice chickens to play with! I wish I had someone nice to play with..." She looked back at Margaret Joy to check out her expression.

Margaret Joy didn't pay attention to that; all she heard was "feed chickens". She was beginning to get anxious. "Please, Phoebe. Let me help feed the chickens. I'll be good!"

Phoebe knew that she had won. She put Tulip back in the pen, and got out the feed. "O.K., Margaret Joy. Put your chicken in the pen."

Margaret Joy reluctantly put her chicken into the pen, then said, "What do I do now?"

Phoebe took Margaret Joy by the hand, and led her to the feed bottles. She said, "Here, Margaret Joy. You fill that container, and I'll fill this one. Aren't they cute when they eat?"

Storybook Nook