A few months into my chickening life, it was really rainy. Where I lived the soil was that horrible adobe stuff, hard as granite when dry and slicker 'n snot when wet. By that time, I already had two coops in the yard. So I was moving from one to the other to fill feeders and waterers and WHOOPS! slipped and landed on my back in the muck.
Whilst I was thinking about what had just happened, not very clearly, the flock (at that time it was only 8 chickens) came to see what was going on.
My glasses were askew on my face. Suddenly, Buffy the Vampire Slaying Orpington was atop my chest and peering into my face. Other pullets were gathering. A couple pecked curiously at my clothing. Buffy buh-bawked and leaned forward to peck at the bridge of my glasses.
After I got my fat butt and all attached parts up out of the mud, I resolved to set down concrete pavers. Otherwise, the next similar experience might not turn out so positively.
Now, with a flock of over fifty birds, I live in a different location and the soil turns to mud when it rains. Nice mushy mud that squooshes up the sides of my shoes or boots instead of launching me forward or backward into the perfect main course position.
I feel safer.