Colorful Chicks

Both Easters (The western = catholic and the eastern = orthodox) fall on the same date this year. The different religions use different set of calendars, and if you want to get into the details of it, you can read it here.
We are getting ready for the annual egg hunt. This year we are doing it in Fanar, which is a little bit up in the mountains, in the garden of the parents in-law of my brother in-law. You cannot get any more removed than that in a family, but in Lebanon we do not make issues out of this. You have a great-grandfather trice removed from a husband’s aunt’s side in common? Then you’re family.

Last year I celebrated it in Holland, and my mother hid the eggs. We only retrieved about 85% of the eggs, and she couldn’t remember exactly where she had hidden them all, so they must have been running into eggs all year long.

And in Lebanon, we don’t paint eggs, we paint the chicks.

I once bought 10 of them. They usually die within a day or two; too cold for them. But 3 of them survived, and they grew up to be nice chickens. Even our German shepherd, Stella, got along famously with them. Until one day I got home (they were still in the pre-feather stage), and all I found was a piece of liver on my balcony. A tiny piece of liver. "What an odd thing," I remember thinking to myself, "How did a piece of liver get on a balcony on the 12th floor?" And then I could no longer find the chicks.
Stella did not divulge any clues but I suspect she did devour the chicks.