The other day the human spent I don't know how much time looking for the little peachick.
She could have been scratching between my horns or serving me a nice cold bowl of pink lemonade, but she was searching in the building and in the outdoor pen and even outside the pen. The little chick had taken to hopping through the wire and feasting on the hay set out for the weaned goatie girls.
She never did find the chick. At first she thought this might have been the problem.
No, not the duck. The pool. Just a couple of days before she came rushing out of the building and swooped the little thing out of the pool. I could hear her in the barn talking to it. "Oh, poor baby. You just sit here. I'll hold you under the heat lamp until you're warm and dry and fluffy."
Poor baby, heck. It's called survival of the fittest. Anyhow, she emptied the pool and got clean water, which Quackers was enjoying, but she did not find a little peabody.
That made her think the something like this might be the culprit. After all, the chick had been going out of the pen, and a raccoon could have picked it off.
Personally, I think it's way more likely that it became a snack for this.
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