The chickens are older than us, and wiser to nature. But they’re also stupid. My dear friend Skinnerbox has gone to feed the Foxes.
I will miss her because when I was drunk or hungover and I stretched myself out on a blanket in the garden while my wife dug potatoes, Skinnerbox would visit me and ask me to comb the mites from her wattles.
I can’t describe the phenomenon of an intelligent chicken to a layman.
She was both aggressive and loving, in a sort of sine wave pattern you had to watch for, or she’d make you bleed.

When I was recovering from an arm injury, she’d jump in my lap and straddle that injured arm. ( It was warm. Still, you need a chicken.)

She likely went to feed the same fox that ate her mother lo these many years ago, or one of that fox’s kits.