So I go outside with a large metal colender to collect veggies for dinner. There is a stampede of the finest western movies, (insert or hum Bonanza theme) only a little higher than where the horses ankles should be. Chickens are suddenly all my best friends, ever, and I'm swearing on the truth, one or two of em were oinking. Like a pig. Anticipating yet more treats. Should have seen their faces when I showed them the emptienss and the longer view of blue skies through the many holes. They did not believe me and wanted a closer inspection. Wow. Abandoned so fast in the pursuit of bugs, I nearly forgot I owned chickens. Looked at the coop on the other side of the yard to verify. Green Acres had a pet pig. Bet that pig could cluck. And stuck close to his owner even when he lacked yummies. Old Yeller wouldn't leave. Lassie would dive into the abandoned well. Flipper would save the world. Gentle Ben, well, he'd scratch his butt on the tree and consider looming over the bad guys, but he'd stick it out.