From our bedroom window we can look down the hill to see the chicken run in the lower meadow, but at that distance the chickens look like waddling blobs. Up close they're more handsome. At first they resist coming out from under their coop, but finally they emerge to scrabble toward the feed bucket and nudge each other out of the way to get to lunch. Soon a kingfisher chattering past sends them all scurrying for cover. They've nothing to fear from the kingfisher, but I hope they know enough to hide from hawks. The chicken run should protect them from earthbound predators, but we rely on their instincts to protect them from the hawks.
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