House chicken

We were at Orscheln's Monday morning and I happened past the chicks for sale.  Not that I was in the market for any chickens, mind you, I just happened to be in that vicinity.  There was a notice stating that there would be no more chicks this year.  The chicks in the various cages were a motley assortment of leftovers.  
One cage was inhabited by a single chick, a tiny Americauna pullet.  That's one of the breeds that lays blue or green eggs.  "I wouldn't mind having one of those," I thought.  "Besides, the poor little thing is all alone."  
Cliff didn't even protest when I told him I was taking that chick home.  He knows by now it's no use.  The chick peeped loudly from the confines of her cardboard jail, all the way home.  On our trip home, I began to question the wisdom of bringing home a single chick:  Where would I keep her?  You can't just throw a baby chick in with half-grown chickens... they would chase her down in unison and peck her to death.  Not to mention that new chicks need a certain amount of warmth.  
I hunted up a cardboard box, got a feeder and a waterer from the garage, and set her up.  

I just now took this picture.  Yes, that's poop all over the newspaper, and I just changed the newspapers twenty-four hours ago.  Again, I ask myself, what was I thinking?  
Chickie sometimes protests loudly with an irritating "CHEEP!  CHEEP!  CHEEP!" that will go on for a half-hour if you ignore it.  However, if I stand over the box where she can see me, she settles into a contented, barely audible peeping.  
A couple of evenings ago I was watching TV and decided to hold her, just to shut her up.  

As you can see, I was prepared with a paper towel in case she pooped.  She didn't, though.  In case you're wondering what that thing is that's attached to my nightgown, it's my Fitbit, the device that lets me know how many miles I have walked.  Because I often put my nightgown on at 5 PM, and then go out and pull weeds, and do not want to miss credit for a single step I take!  Of course, Hyperblogal (David) saw this shot on Facebook and grabbed his opportunity:

"Donna should have listened to Clifford. The whole "Mother's Day Out" idea is a load of hooey..."

Anyhow, I'm stuck with a chicken who doesn't know she's a chicken.  Cliff suggested we get her a friend, but then I would have twice as much poop to clean up.  If I could even find a chick, now that chick season is over.  It's a dilemma, for sure.