Well shit.
There had been a “griffin” in his attic.
That griffin had made a nest.
In that nest was an egg.
It certainly didn’t take a genius to figure where exactly that egg had come from. The more prudent question on Chris’ mind however was, “What the hell do I do with it?”
Upon some brief consideration, three options made themselves apparent.
Option one: simply throw the egg out and be done with it - While certainly the easiest option, it didn’t set well with Chris. His father had always drilled into him to avoid being wasteful or lazy, and letting this creature die simply because he couldn’t be bothered dealing with it, fit the definition of both. In short, option one is a no go.
Option two: take the egg to an animal shelter - Certainly a reasonable response all things considered, but whether the shelter could actually do anything for an unhatched egg was unlikely, especially since they probably wouldn’t know much more about the species it belonged to, than Chris.
Option three: Hatch the egg as best he could himself. This would naturally require the most effort, and even in the best conditions is perfectly possible to end in failure. Chris does keep chickens and has on occasion had to hatch eggs himself using an incubator, so it should be feasible. There is one major problem however. Namely, that the species in question is one which Chris has no real knowledge of.
Incubation is a sensitive process, and keeping the egg at a particular temperature is vital, to say nothing of how long then incubation period should be. Without knowing the recommended procedure for this animal, Chris would have to resort to guesswork.
By now Chris had made up his mind in favor of trying to hatch the egg, but the question of how to determine the ideal incubation temperature still weighed on him. In the end, calling his cousin, who’d told him about the griffins in the first place seemed like the only lead he had. International calls were more expensive, but it can’t be helped.
“Hallo? Dietrich?”
“Kristoffer! Wie geht es dir?”
“Es geht. Mind switching to English? You know I was never the best at speaking the mother tongue.”
“Hah, no problem cousin, it seems like everyone here speaks more English than German these days anyway. So, what’s the occasion? You thinking of expanding the family agricultural business into the German market?”
“No, nothing like that. Listen, you remember like half a year ago, at the last family get together you told me about some German company getting into genetically engineered pets, something about griffins?”
“Oh yeah yeah yeah, Genfabrik Inc. I think they’re marketing them as “puffy griffins”, definitely trying to go for name association with fluffy ponies.”
“Yeah that’s the one. Anyways, uhhhhh… I don’t exactly know how to say this, but I think one of them got into my attic.”
“Your attic? How’d the hell would one get there? They’re not even fully on the market in North America yet.”
“No clue, cousin. Best guess is maybe it was a runaway or something. But listen, it gets weirder: it laid an egg in my attic.”
“An egg? Seriously?”
“Seriously”
“Shit, cousin, I don’t know what to say, that’s some bizarre stuff. So what’s this got to do with me, you want me to direct you to someone who can get the critter and its child off your hands, not sure if I can help you much in that regard, honestly.”
“No, that’s… not gonna be an issue. The mother had already died when I found it in the attic. It’s the egg I’m concerned about. I’m thinking I’d just get it to hatch, but I got no idea what the ideal temperature for incubation is for these “puffy griffins”. You think you can reach out to someone who’d know that kinda stuff?”
“Uhhhhh shit, hold on, I think I know someone that might be able to help. Let me get in touch with them, and I’ll call you back if I find anything out, OK?”
“Yeah. Thanks a lot, cousin. I appreciate it. Say hi to to little Anna for me.”
“No problem, Chris. I’ll be in touch.”
With the phone call ended, Chris got to work and made a makeshift nest that’d keep the egg warm until Dietrich got back to him with further info. To call it a nest might even be a little generous, as it was mostly just some towels and a heat lamp. Eventually, though Dietrich did call Chris back, and luckily had managed to get some info on griffin rearing, in exchange for a favor apparently.
With everything set up now, Chris set the incubator up with the appropriate settings, and place the egg inside. According to Dietrich, the egg was likely laid only recently, so it should stay in the incubator for at least another two weeks.
And so it was, for the next two weeks, life at the Meyer farm passed much the same as it always did, only now with checking on the griffin egg being added to the list of daily tasks. One day, as he was checking on the egg in question, Chris noticed cracks forming across the surface. Chris kept watch on the egg, until the small creatures fully emerged from the shell that had housed it for so long.
In terms of appearance, it was naturally similar to its mother in terms of its shape. The front half of its body however, was mostly bald, with only the barest hints of feathers that would eventually grow out to cover itself. It’s back half was covered with soft, fuzzy fur - bone white in coloration.
The hatchling was quite vigorous for someone freshly hatched, and was already wiggling around, making high pitched chirping vocalizations. No doubt calling out for it’s mother, hungry and wanting comfort. Chris felt a sudden sadness well up in him, at the thought that this creature was completely alone in the world. It had no siblings, no mother, nor a father. All it had, was Chris.
Chris took the creature out of the incubator, and took it to a nest he’d prepared - a proper nest this time (intended for fluffies, but no doubt the tiny griffin would appreciate it just as much). The info Chris had been given stated that for the first week or so of its life, the hatchling puffy griffin would not be able to regulate its own body temperature, thus necessitating the use of a heat lamp. In regards to food, it was stated that much like birds of prey, the puffy hatchling would eat meat from day one, without the whole process of the mother first ingesting and then vomiting the food for its young not being the case.
Chris hand fed the hatchling some smaller bits of pork until it seemed to be satisfied, upon which it promptly went to sleep.
Looking at the diminutive chimera-thing, Chris couldn’t deny feeling a certain level of affection for it. He hadn’t really had a pet since childhood, after his old dog Belle had died he just didn’t want to get a new one. But, now it seemed that maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to have one again after all.
A good pet would need a good name, however.
Mulling things over in his head, Chris eventually came thought of something that would work.
“Leona.” He spoke aloud, as he continued watching over the slumbering hatchling.
