In Australia they call live chickens chooks. Once it hits the killing cone, however, it becomes chicken. For whatever reason, I enjoy referring to the chickens as chooks.

Thus, The Case of the Terrified Chooks, which all started one night when I failed to complete a critical chore on the farm. Closing the chicken coop door. You see, the chicken-brained chooks aren’t exactly quiet in their coop. Nor are they very cleanly. Both of which completely give them away to predators. Until now we haven’t had an issue with predators and the coop. I’ve forgotten to close the door on a few occasions (sorry chooks!), but luckily nothing happened.

Elvis and his lady, Sassafras. Winona dust bathing under the swing. She's the queen