A childhood belief about birds

When I was about five years old, I finally discovered what eggs were: the things baby chickens came out of. From that point on, I was obsessed with finding a baby chicken. Every morning, I'd sneak into the kitchen and pull an egg out of the fridge. Then I'd carry it outside and throw it as hard as I could into the street, and I'd run out to see if a baby chicken was part of the wreckage. I never found one that way, so I figured I was doing something wrong. Around that time, my parents had explained to me about seeds growing into trees, so I got the brilliant idea to bury an egg and allow for the baby chicken to grow out of it like a seedling. Before I buried it in my front yard, I took off one of my socks and wrapped it around the egg, lest the chick get cold. We moved from that house about a week later, so for a few years afterward, I always wondered if the baby chicken had grown out of the ground, and if the neighbors were taking care of it for me.