Where Oh Where Can Those Little Hens Be

Okay, one more chicken story, and that's all. Promise :
   "Clik, clik clik," Now where could my two little red hens be? I scan the yard, and as usual them come running from among the spruce which is their favorite spot. Why they prefer to pack at the hard packed earth beneath the trees is when I think there are so many more inviting places to feast is beyond me, unless they still remember and feel safer there.
   Brownie, the gentler, friendlier one is, as usual, a few strides ahead of Polly. Soon they are eagerly nibbling from my hand, and then I turn to fill the feeder.
  As the hot weeks of summer slide by, my son cooks up a plan, and before autumn winds have scarcely begun to stir the leaves, we see him industriously placing black shingles on the roof of a cute little chicken house while I am painting the exterior a barn red and the trimmings white. Inside the little coop, hubby is occupied with installing the insulation, building roosts, and adding the heating-lighting system.
  Well, I am sure you will agree that such a fine chalet needs more guests. The local Bargain Hunter is a great source for additional feathered fowl. What do my little red hens think of additional companions?They seem unperturbed but still prefer to roost side by side when darkness falls.
 Such a lot of girls hanging out together for too long eventually caused some friction and the tiny white beauties were the brunt of the snobbery. Time to get a rooster to get them in order! When Mr. Rooster, who we later called Roulette strutted in, Queenie, who is mostly gold colored, and one or two of her entourage decided to challenge him. NOT a good idea. Roulette puffed up his neck feathers to make him look enormous and swiftly put her in her place. Then he turned to take care of anyone who even dared to look at him the wrong way.
   Order was quickly resumed, but Brownie was still her old, sweet self. She is always ready for a cuddle when I come to feed them. She likes to lean her head close to mine and whisper sweet nothings to me when I pick her up. (Oh, sorry, that wasn't meant to be offensive. Maybe they really were sweet somethings but I was just too dumb to understand her!)  Chickens will come and chickens will go, but no chicken pot pie for Brownie. Brownie is a pet!