"Deinonychus chicks - free stuff"

A short for /scaly/
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	You’re at home one day, bored, distracting yourself by browsing craigslist. You see an ad in the “free” section that catches your attention.
	“Free clutch of deinonychus chicks for adoption, about 1 month old”
	You click on the ad which describes the chicks, their husbandry, and the parents. The ad explains that the owners have their hands full already with the parents and can’t afford six more raptor mouths to feed. There are a few pictures in the ad, some of the parents, others show the little fuzzy brown chicks cuddled up together in a little nest of newspaper. One blurry picture shows some of the chicks chasing a little rubber ball in the dirt.
	Your heart melts and you turn around in your chair to survey your apartment.
	Surely it’s big enough to raise a raptor?
	You vaguely remember your rental agreement had a clause for pets, and there’s a park nearby where you can take it for exercise. You grab your car keys and phone, already typing in the address in the ad into your phone’s GPS.
	After an hour-long car ride out into the country, you pull your sedan onto a dirt road. Weather-worn post and rail fences run parallel to the dirt road on either side, beyond the fences lie a vast field of grass over rolling hills, dotted here and there with a lone oak tree breaking the horizon between the field and sky. Black and white-spotted cattle graze near the fence as you guide your car down the dusty road, some of them eyeing you lazily as you drive past.
	After a short trip over a hill, you spot a few buildings at the end of your path. You pull up to a simple two-story farmhouse, it looks old but appears to be in good shape, various knickknacks and other rural memorabilia decorate the porch at its front; a wind chime tinkles musically in the warm summer breeze as you step from your vehicle.
	An older man, you would guess to be in his fifties, steps from a screen door out onto the covered porch of the building. He wears a simple pair of faded blue jeans with a blue buttoned shirt tucked into the waist. A ball-cap from the local high school baseball team covers wispy graying hair. A short salt and pepper beard contrasts against his dark, tanned skin as he steps off the porch into the sun.
	“Beautiful day, isn’t it? You must be Anon.” His tanned face breaking out into a warm wrinkly smile as he crosses the yard toward you, the lines and creases told of a long life of hard work.
	“A pleasure meeting you, name’s Walter.” You shake his hand with an affirmation, his palm is rough and calloused, and he squeezes your hand firmly.
	“Well, let’s go take a look at ‘em.”
	You follow him across the yard toward a barn off to the side of his farmhouse. Walter opens the door and lets you inside and the smell of animals nearly overwhelms you.
	“Used to have to keep the raptors in another building, they’d spook the horses so much I couldn’t even open their stalls without them bolting. Guess I was around the raptors so much I started smelling like ‘em and over time the horses seemed to calm down. The first few weeks after housing the raptors in here was pretty stressful, though.” He says with a soft laugh as he leads you down a center aisle toward the back of the building.
	You pass a few stalls holding horses, then some empty pens, before he finally stops at a stall at the very back of the building.
	“Gotta keep the raptors here in the back. The horses don’t like being right next to them, even though the things wouldn’t hurt a hair on a fly…”
	You peer over a wooden gate into the stall. Two sets of golden, reptilian eyes stare back at you. Among the straw padding on the floor lay two fully-grown raptors lay curled around each other. Both raptors are covered in long brown feathers, shining black claws tip their toes and peak out from the feathers covering their arms. Their piercing golden eyes stare up at you from where they lay.
	“This is Ellie and Alan. She’s an Arboreal, you see the green feathers on her crest and forearms?” he points to the forest-green feathers that stand out against the rest of her dusky brown plumage, “and he’s a Gobi.”
	The female raptor—Ellie—nuzzles her mate and then slowly rises, her head comes up to about the bottom of your chin and he long tail, once uncurled, nearly touches the opposite wall of the pen. The female raptor steps across the pen to the door, the straw beneath her feet softly crunches.
	“Ellie is the sweetest thing, raised her from an egg myself.” Walter says with a tinge of pride to his voice.
	The farmer reaches over the door and holds his hand out with his palm open and facing the raptor, as if he were telling her to stop. Ellie cautiously steps forward and sniffs at his hand, before nuzzling into it with her nose and the side of her muzzle with a delighted chirp. The farmer strokes along her head and neck, as if he were petting a large cat.
	“Alan was bought when he was an adolescent, so he’s not as trusting, but he’ll come around if you spend enough time with him.”
	Alan stares up at you from his place on the ground, having not moved, while the farmer continues to pet the affectionate raptor. You look all around the pen, but don’t see any raptor hatchlings. You ask the farmer where they are.
	“Well they’d throw a fit if you tried to take one of the hatchlings in front of them. We had to remove the eggs from the nest after they were laid with these two sedated. Otherwise, you’d have to wait until the chicks grow up enough to where they would leave the nest naturally. It’s hard on the parents, but they don’t have that enhanced intelligence of some raptors you can get, else I’d explain what’s going on to ‘em. It’s hard in the beginning, you should’ve heard Ellie’s keening at night when we first separated them, about tore my soul from my body, but they’ll get over it eventually.”
	You nod, thinking it probably wouldn’t be wise to kidnap a baby raptor in front of its parents.
	“Alright Ellie, I’ve gotta go. Be a good girl and keep Alan in line for me, huh?” The man gives one last pat on Ellie’s head before turning to you and motioning out the back door of the building.
	“The raptor chicks are in the house.”
	You follow Walter out of the barn and to the back door of his farmhouse, stepping through into his modest home. He leads you up a set of creaky stairs, past old family portraits hung on the wall, to a guest bedroom on the second floor. You can hear soft chirping and the scratching of claws on plastic from behind the closed door. Walter opens the door slowly, immediately something fuzzy and brown tries to shoot through the gap and into the hallway, but the farmer blocks its path with his foot.
	“Hold on there, little feller.” Walter says with a chuckle, reaching down to grab the little bundle of chirping feathers.
	He tucks the baby raptor under his arm and peeks into the room before opening the door fully. You peer around him into a small room mostly devoid of any furniture, except, for a large plastic kiddie pool right in the center of the room.
	“Well, here they are. They aren’t tall enough to climb out yet, but I think little Dennis here likes to climb on his sibling’s backs to escape.” Walter presents the little raptor to you, held between his hands like someone would hold a hamburger with two hands about to take a bite, except with his thumbs on top. The little raptor looks like a miniature of his parents, except his feathers are soft and downy, unlike the sleek plumage of an adult, making his body look larger than he actually is.
Dennis is kicking his little feet and wiggling, chirping angrily and trying to twist his head enough to nip at the fingers holding him at his midsection.
	You follow Walter into the room and look over the rim of the kiddie pool.
	“In you go, Dennis, you little rascal.” Walter stoops down and gently drops the protesting raptor back into the kiddie pool. Five other baby raptors, all looking nearly identical to Dennis, crowd around the inside rim of the pool, all facing you and Walter. They chirp excitedly, jumping and bumping against their siblings, little pink maws open like hungry birds, while their little forearms and feet scrabble against the plastic as they try to find purchase and climb up the wall to get at you.
	“It’s about feeding time for them. Hold on a minute and I’ll get them some food.” Walter walks back to the door and steps out of the room, closing it behind him.
	You squat before the pool and watch the little raptors. All of them are a creamy brown color, with stripes of darker brown feathers running down their sides from nose to tail tip. Their little needle teeth look sharp and nearly translucent as they pine for something to eat.
	After a minute, Walter returns holding a small Tupperware bowl filled with raw chicken cutlets.
	“This is store-bought chicken breast. Cut it up into little strips about half-your-pinky-sized. Make sure there’s no bones for them to choke on and throw it in the microwave for a little bit to warm it up if you keep it in the refrigerator. You want to feed them?" He hands you the bowl of warm chicken and a pair of cooking tongs.
	“Tried feeding Ellie by hand once when she was a chick,” Walter holds up his hands and wiggles his fingers, “luckily I didn’t lose a finger.”
	Walter walks past you to the corner of the room, where a stack of small tubs sits inverted. Pulling them apart he sets the six tubs up around the room.
	“We feed them individually, else they’d just fight over the food and the weaker ones wouldn’t get fed.” Walter dons a set of thick welder’s gauntlets that were beneath the last tub and reaches into the kiddie pool of baby raptors. Wrapping his hands around one wiggling baby, he sets it into one of the six tubs. Once all six raptors are each in their own tub Walter guides you to the first raptor.
	“Alright, Anon, each raptor gets three pieces. Just grip one end with the tongs and hold the chicken within their reach. They should snap it right up.” You start at the first tub, gripping the piece of slimy chicken with the tongs and hold it up over the raptor. The little baby raptor chirps excitedly, jumping up and down to try to reach the morsel as you lower the chicken within its reach. Once close enough, its little jaws snap around the chicken and you let go, the raptor swallows it in one bite and opens its toothy mouth again, eager for the next piece. After two more pieces, the raptor is far less excitable, instead it lays down in the tub and curls up into a little fluffy ball with a sleepy yawn.
	“They’re just like babies—once you get ‘em fed they go right to sleep for a few hours and then they’re up and wanting food again.” You move onto the next raptor, but after the third piece it still pines for more food.
	“That’s Henry, the little greedy guts. If there’s a piece or two left over you can give it to him.” You feed three more raptors and start on the sixth, before Walter stops you.
	“This one is Tim, he can be a picky eater, so I normally just leave the meat in a small pile for him, he’ll eat it eventually.” You do notice something different about this raptor. Little Tim stares up at you with interest, but his mouth is closed. You grab a piece of chicken and lower it down to the raptor, Tim’s little beady eyes follow your movements and once close enough, he lunges forward and snaps the chicken up.
	“Well, I’ve never seen Tim take a hand-feeding before!” Walter exclaims from beside you. You lower another piece of chicken down to the tiny raptor and he greedily snatches up that piece too.
	“Maybe he’s taken a liking to ya, Anon.” Walter says as he clasps you on the back with a good-natured laugh. After the third piece, Tim curls up and falls asleep. You feed the remaining two pieces to Henry and lay the plate and tongs on the floor. Walter takes a rag from the closet and cleans the kiddie pool of loose feathers and dirt, before placing a lamp on the end of a stand over the cleaned pool.
	“Now I put ‘em back in the main tub again with a heat lamp, when they’re older they’ll sunbathe after eating.” Walter reaches down into a tub and pulls the sleeping raptor out bare-handed, placing the little bundle of feathers back in the center of the kiddie pool. You reach into Tim’s tub and gingerly wrap your fingers around the little creature. Your fingers compress his puffy feathers until you feel his little scaly body. Tim opens his eyes with a squeak and sniffs at the side of your hand before his eyes close again sleepily.
He feels so light—lighter than you would guess considering he’s about the size of a cat; you carefully pick the baby raptor up and hold him against your chest.
	“Why don’t you head downstairs with Tim while I finish up here? Handling him will be good practice.” You nod and exit the room while holding tight to Tim, carefully making your way downstairs and around the corner to a room with a small TV, recliner, and couch.
You sit on the couch and place Tim on your lap. The little raptor stirs in his sleep and his eyes blink open, the little slit-pupils focus on your face, but he doesn’t move. You slowly reach a hand up to near Tim’s face, the baby raptor watches your hand and then gingerly sniffs at your fingers. After a moment, you feel his little tongue draw wetly across your finger and he nuzzles the side of his face into the side of your hand, just like how Ellie greeted Walter earlier.
	You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face as you gently run your hand down the soft feathers on Tim’s back. The baby raptor chirrups cheerfully and you scratch beneath his little jaw, watching his eyes slip closed in pleasure.
	“It seems Tim’s taken a liking to ya.” Both you and the raptor jump as Walter steps around the corner. Tim’s feathers puff up as he bristles defensively at the sudden intrusion, but he calms down once you resume your petting.

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	You and Walter talk for a while, Tim having fallen asleep curled in your lap around the time raptor-proofing your home was discussed.
	“Well, Anon, I think we’ve covered everything.” Walter glances at a clock hung above your head and begins to rise from his recliner. A quick glance out the window shows the sky already darkening as evening approaches.
	“I don’t mean to keep you here with supper around the corner. Do you have anything for Tim for the ride home? Anything like a dog carrier or a box?” You shake your head, slightly embarrassed that bringing something to transport the raptor home slipped your mind.
	“Hold on, I think I’ve got a box you can have.” Walter returns after a moment with a medium-sized box and an old dishrag. You turn the box over in your hands, noting the “Amazon” branding on its side.
	“Yeah, I love my Prime subscription. Can watch ‘Justified’ any time I want.”

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	Tim gives a sleepy chirp from his dishrag nest in the box on your passenger seat as you slip into the driver’s side and softly close the door behind you. You start the engine and wave to Walter where he stands on his porch, before flicking the headlights on and starting back down the dirt road toward home.

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	Early the next morning, something soft and warm rubs against your face, chirping incessantly and waking you from a pleasant dream.
You glance at your bedside clock through sleep-crusted eyes, noting how your room is still dark.
	“5:28”, the blocky digital numbers read.
	With a soft sigh you wrap your tiny raptor in a gentle hug and pull him close to your chest. His nose nuzzles between your chin and sternum and you wonder why you never looked for this fuzzy alarm clock sooner.