A sharp wind blowing through academe; or, when chickens fly the coop

I drove through a lot of wind yesterday but saw no signs of damage at home--only because the resident chicken fancier had already done his work.

When I arrived home he was down in the meadow fiddling with the chicken run, and it wasn't until later that he told me what I'd missed: the wind had lifted the chicken run and lofted it across the meadow, leaving the chickens free to take a walk on the wild side.

I don't know which was more difficult--restoring the chicken run or retrieving all the chickens--but he got it done. Not without drama: There's this chicken the grandkids call Pineapple because they say it looks like it's wearing a Hawaiian shirt (because of course they do), and sweet little innocent Pineapple had escaped detection by hiding in the tall grass. It might have remained there all night if the guineas hadn't squawked at the hiding place, bringing it to the attention of the chicken fancier. Yes: poor Pineapple got ratted out by a pair of officious guineas.

That's the way we live these days, both at home and at work. This morning I stumbled into the never-ending discussion about the difficulty of counteracting students' reliance on AI for everything. It's clear that a sharp wind is blowing through academe upsetting all our tried-and-true methods, and many of us are running around trying to corral the chickens and restore the structures while a few wily chickens hide in the tall grass. Do we strengthen our containment structures, give the chickens a good talking-to, or import some guineas to squawk at the miscreants? 

Or is it time to declare victory and depart from the field? Retirement is just seven months away. Why can't someone else take charge of these chickens?

They look innocent, but don't be fooled.