We certainly knew that our nine year old daughter had behavior problems. Of course her favorite reply was always, “I didn’t know I did that,” and she always spoke so adamantly that people tended to believe her. We were fairly new foster parents at the time so we believed her, for maybe a year. She was so quiet and sweet to people outside of our family that everyone assumed she must be a real joy to us and a really big help with the younger children.

The real truth was that she hurt other children by “accidentally” shutting their fingers in drawers or doors, or stepping on them or knocking them down. She damaged property by “accidentally” gouging things like the entire side of my car or a wall. She rammed into objects like the cupboard doors that still haven’t been replaced. She broke many toys usually by stepping on them or running over them with her bike and then with her car when she was older. She also struggled with episodes of encopresis .

Many of these behaviors were annoying, gross, and could be difficult to live with but the time she decided to kill a bunch of chickens almost got her kicked out of our house.

She had been living with us as a foster child for nearly two years and this incident happened just before our adoption was finalized. I remember being completely horrified when I found out why the chickens had been dropping dead every day for weeks. I called the caseworker and the therapist in near hysterics and I wanted her put into a residential treatment facility immediately. They were both completely opposed to the idea; they felt she was too young and of course, too sweet and innocent.

They were both thrilled when I called them a week later, again with horror in my voice, because she had written a book at school about a farm hand who had been killing and stashing the animals. Wasn’t it wonderful that she was processing what had happened and was working through it in her mind? I thought they were both nuts and for a time I was actually scared to live in the same house with her.

In hindsight, I wish we had put her in residential treatment. Because we eventually, years later, ended up putting her on several medications that really helped stabilize her behavior. She turned into a beautiful, helpful, hard-working young woman. I’m sure that if she had gone into residential treatment at nine years old they would have put her on medication then, and we wouldn’t have struggled with her behavior for so many years. It was so bad for a while that I dreamed of the day when she would be in ninth grade so I could send her off to a private all girls boarding school so we wouldn’t have to live with her.

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