A month later, in August, we adopted a baby chick from Maryland named Gabby. She too had been saved by a kind person, and now Felix and Gabby were inseparable companions in our kitchen. Bred for the chicken industry, Felix, though less than two months old the same as Gabby, was many times her size, and while she scampered around him, to his delight – he could barely stand up on his own two legs.
Friday morning, September 4, I rejoiced at how happy Felix and Gabby were with each other. She was nestled on his back and he sat quietly. I walked into my office and started working. Suddenly, a commotion erupted.
Gabby came running in. She had never done that before. Not once had she ever left Felix until this moment. She peeped frantically. I jumped off my chair and followed her. She raced into the kitchen, peeping loudly.
I looked at the quilt where she and Felix were sitting together a few minutes before, and he was not on it. Where was Felix? I turned the corner, and found him lying on the floor, dead. Gabby had witnessed her friend dying of a heart attack. And she had run to tell me that something terrible had just happened to Felix in front of her eyes.