The Hatchery Rejected Her 400 “Mismarked” Silkies—Then the Hatching Egg Orders Started
Chapter 3
Maya met Aaron three days later.
He arrived in a dusty SUV wearing jeans, work boots, and a university sweatshirt.
He didn’t look like the kind of scientist Maya had expected.
He walked directly toward the chicken houses.
“Where are they?”
Maya laughed.
“Hello to you too.”
“Sorry.”
Aaron grinned.
“I’ve been trying to find birds like these for six years.”
Maya stopped.
“You know what they are?”
“I know what they might be.”
He crouched beside one of the birds.
He examined its feet.
Then its feathers.
Then its crest.
“Where did you get this line?”
Maya explained.
Aaron listened carefully.
When she finished, he asked:
“Do you have breeding records?”
“Yes.”
“Complete records?”
“Almost.”
“Can I see them?”
Maya hesitated.
“You haven’t even told me why you’re interested.”
Aaron stood.
“Because unusual traits aren’t always defects.”
Maya nodded.
“That is what I’ve been thinking.”
Aaron smiled.
“Good.”
They spent the afternoon comparing photographs.
Aaron became increasingly excited.
“These aren’t random mutations.”
“What are they?”
“I don’t know yet.”
He pointed toward the birds.
“But they’re showing a pattern.”
Maya leaned closer.
“Meaning?”
“Your original hens appear to be carrying a combination of traits that most commercial breeders eliminate because they don’t fit established show standards.”
“So they’re not defective?”
“Not necessarily.”
He looked at her.
“They may be valuable precisely because they’re different.”
Maya felt something loosen inside her chest.
“What would you do?”
“Breed selectively.”
“I already am.”
“Then continue.”
He paused.
“And don’t let the hatchery convince you that market value and biological value are the same thing.”
Maya smiled.
“That sounds like something my grandfather would say.”
Aaron looked at the notebook.
“Who was he?”
“Thomas Bennett.”
Aaron turned several pages.
Then stopped.
“Wait.”
Maya looked over.
“What?”
Aaron pointed to an old entry.
“Your grandfather recorded these birds twenty-six years ago?”
Maya nodded.
“He called them silver-foot Silkies.”
Aaron’s expression changed.
“That’s interesting.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve seen references to something similar in an old poultry journal.”
Maya’s heartbeat quickened.
“Where?”
Aaron looked up.
“From a breeder in another state.”
“Who?”
“That’s what I want to find out.”
