Chapter 53: Charlotte, training assault chickens

In my previous life I had never paid chickens much attention. Or even thought about them at all. I knew they were birds and the source of eggs. My knowledge stopped there. Now I found myself caretaker to a small flock of six hens and one puffed up rooster. There was a certain comfort in watching their busy scratching, chatting to each other like a group of older women. I learned to delight in the way they tilted their heads when you spoke to them. They became my friends, running when they heard me call here chicken, chicken, eager to peck the scraps of bread scattered at my feet.

Bird brains sticking together, I heard Louise say.

To further my education, I learned that a broody hen could deliver quite a sharp peck if you tried to slide a hand under to see what she was keeping warm. Today one hen hogged the end nesting box. The perverse little creatures had access to a multitude of spots to lay, but if one went broody the others all decided only that particular box would do. The trait