I often walk in the forest — it’s something that brings me peace. Just the sound of leaves underfoot, the chirping of birds, and the way sunlight filters through the branches. I go out there at least twice a week, sometimes more, always taking the same familiar trails near my house. Over the years, I’ve seen plenty of curious things: a family of deer crossing the path, a tree struck clean in half by lightning, once even a lost dog that ended up finding its way home with my help. But nothing — nothing — could have prepared me for what I saw that morning.
It started like any other walk. The forest was quiet, still soaked in morning dew. I had my headphones in but wasn’t playing anything — I just liked the feeling of them. As I rounded a bend in the path, something ahead caught my eye. A strange-looking pile lay just off the trail, half-hidden by leaves and moss. It was a jarring splash of bright yellow in a mostly green and brown landscape. My first thought was: tennis balls. Maybe some kids had dumped a bag of them for fun. Or perhaps some unusual mushrooms?
Curious, I walked closer. But the moment I stepped near, the pile moved. And then it made a sound.
That’s when my stomach dropped.
These weren’t tennis balls. They were tiny, living creatures — chicks. Dozens of them. Bright yellow, some damp as if just hatched, their tiny wings trembling. They were huddled together in a tight, desperate mass, peeping softly, almost like whispering cries for help. Some were trying to stand, wobbling on legs that barely seemed strong enough to hold their weight. Others lay still, breathing, but weak.
It hit me all at once: someone had dumped them here.
This wasn’t a nest that had fallen from a tree. These weren’t wild birds. These were domestic chicks — likely just a day or two old — deliberately abandoned in the forest. Left to die. I felt cold all over. Who would do such a thing? What kind of person could carry living creatures into the woods and leave them there, defenseless, exposed, and terrified?