Cherrie (刘宸妤)

One of the most unforgettable scenes of my childhood — holding a chick in my hand, I sprinkled soil over her lifeless body.

Childhood in China tends to be eventless. Homework is the main part of our lives. We have no siblings, therefore many of us grow too attached to our pets. Ask any Chinese child how many pets he has. The answer will probably be at least seven.

I have done many strange things in my life such as trying to make a dog play the piano, climbing over a wall and getting a long tear in my trousers, trying to teach my chick to fly even though she was smaller than my palm. But what my dad did was more remarkable.

My logic was simple — the chick has wings, so she can fly. For the first flight, I let her take off from my hand which was five centimeters above the ground. For the second time, she flew down from a small yellow stool. Then, from the sofa. Full of joy and conviction, I believed that my chick, indeed, had learned to fly. Then, I tossed the chick into the air, higher than my head. The chick no longer stood up afterwards. She no longer scurried and ran away as usual.

My dad, who is a surgeon, examined the chick to diagnose her condition. He pronounced: “She has broken her left leg.”

“Come on, babe, you must throw it away,” said my neighbor. My pet chick was screaming in pain.

“She is in pain,” said my dad. “You know how it feels? A broken leg?” Ignoring the neighbor, he found an ice-cream stick and cut it into a suitable length to fit the chick’s leg. This was the first surgery I had witnessed.

Dad cautiously put the stick into the right position. Speaking softly to console the squeaking chick, he then wrapped the band-aid around the stick and the leg. So scrupulously that I had an illusion that it was not my chick but “it” were my sister.

My chick survived the injury but she is dead now. I’ve said goodbye to many pets, but she was the most unforgettable. By healing the bird, my father has taught me to treat the injured and less fortunate with love and tenderness.