I turned around to look at what I had stepped on and was horrified, terrified at what I saw, what I had done.

Some of my best childhood memories are from when we lived n the green house on Corson Street; before my father was injured and before my mother became ill and took us away to Sacramento. We had a dog; Kelly, cats; Tiger then Patty and Fluffy who had kittens which we kept two of Qeeny and DingDongDingalingOgden and two bunnies; I don't remember their names just that they were grey and white and that they didn't appreciate my five year old hands trying to pick them up. That is how I learned that bunny bites hurt. We had a big patio with a built in BBQ that was surrounded by a wall. My sister and I loved to ride our noisy Big Wheels back there. There was a gate that led into the big back yard that was also surround by a wall; the backyard was sunny and had one huge tree at the back center near the patio wall. There was also a tree in the far right corner that my sister and I could climb so we could look into our neighbors yard; they had chickens and goats. My father tried to make a bunny pen in the back yard but the bunnies learned they could dig and escaped under the fence into our garden; they particularly enjoyed munching on the carrots. One day our mother said we were invited over to the neighbors house to see the baby chicks that had hatched; they were so cute. I am not sure how many chicks there were but they seemed to be all over the place; I did my best not to step on them but . . .I was moving out of the way of one chick when my foot came down on something behind me; I turned around to look at what I had stepped on and was horrified, terrified at what I saw, what I had done. There lay a baby chick; it was twitching on the ground with blood coming out of it's beak. I somehow climbed over the wall and ran into our house crying the whole way; I felt so bad, so icky for killing the baby chick. My mother followed me home; she gave me hugs and reassured me that it wasn't my fault the it was an accident. Later that day she told me that the baby chick was going to be OK, that is had a broken wing and leg; I really wanted to believe her but I couldn't help but feel she was just trying to make me feel better so I would stop crying. Years later my mother confessed to me what I had known all along; Do you remember that chick you stepped on when you were five? Well, you killed it.