The chickens act so entitled.
They strut around the horse and sheep pastures, among the human, sheep and horse feet, and squawk if another creature steps in their space, on their feet.
I try to explain to them that they are 7-pound fowl, that people, sheep, horses, dogs, could really hurt them.
They glare and say that we should walk around them.
And, so they go about milling around Jet, the Haflinger, while she is eating her grain. When a wind gust frightens her, she bolts outside and feathers fly, chickens fly. Birds squawk.
I close my eyes. No good can come of this.
When I open my eyes, I see feathers, feathers, feathers, but no dead chickens.
And, then I see her.
The Naked Butt Chicken.
She ruffles her remaining feathers and tells me to walk around her.