The Locale: A steel industrial brooder with nylon mesh over the top. From the top of the brooder to the floor is a good four foot drop. The Players: 55 mixed bantam chicks and a German Shepherd with a prey drive/working dog complex. One Tweety Bird by name. The Setting: Family takes Tweety bird, a therapy dog in training, out with them to the local drive in. There was much sci-fi and actiony butt kicking and Tweety gets bored and occasionally woofs at people moving in and out of their cars during the movie. We were having a grand ole time all around, up until my nephew phones to let us know.....There's been a brooder break! dun dun dun! Well over half of our month old chicks have flown the coop, leaving little presents all over the house and generally looking pitiful and seriously rethinking this adventure thing. He gathers all he can and cleans up. We are all very pleased we took Tweety with us, as we are certain the scene would have unfolded far more stickily had she been home. I get home only to have two chicks run out of no where to me. Uh oh! Some one didn't do a head count! 1...2..3...49! We're missing...How many? It's 54 isn't it? I thought it was 55! The hunt is on. 5 thoroughly contrite chickens are rescued and the possibly-imaginary 55th is deemed to be just that, after half an hour of fruitless searching. We put the metal lid on the brooder and decide to find a way to make it more secure when it isn't 1 in the morning. 8 am, my partner awakes to a very pathetic churring and sends her spouse to check the brooder or outside in case number 55 is more real than previously deemed. He finds nothing out of the ordinary and as they are both sleepy, goes back to bed. Until around 9 the same pathetic noise wakes her up again. This time she checks, only to get out of her bed and be face to face with the most drool saturated chick ever to almost-drown on dry land. It's snugly caught between Tweety's paws being concernedly licked every time it peeped. Apparently maternal instincts can override chow hound!