The chickens are making me nervous.
They’ve been unpredictable.
They live life on their own terms.
The punk rock boy in me would love to call them anarchists but they have far too rigid of a hierarchy for this.
Most of the day, I’ve been attempting to get clear on how their social structure mirrors that of people.
I can’t tell if they’re Hells Angels or just prison birds living life where orange is the new squack.
Like members of the 81 crew and prison people, they give few shits about the rules of polite society yet at the same time have a very rigid hierarchy.
I’m leaning towards prisoners. They seem to believe that their coop is Stalag Luft III.
Yesterday I arrived at home to find all five fully free from their enclosure. They were cavorting around the yard, digging up everything and anything Laura’s planted so far.
It seems that they slipped out through a door that I likely left open hours earlier.
I called the children down to help.
With three of us, spirits were light and working tog…
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