I am a love slave to my chickens. Toozie, pictured here, has been sick, so I’ve moved her into my living room to keep an eye on her. After 24 hours, she is much better, thank you, sitting prettily on my red carpet. Pooping there, too, but her poop looks much healthier. I follow her around with a wet rag. I gently nudge her to the rectangle of foam carpet pad I’ve set out for her, but she scoots away to the carpet, plops down, glares at me, and poops again.
This proves she feels better. I can no longer catch her, and don’t care to try. She spends most of her time in quiet meditation, or standing in her water dish, and exudes an aura of peacefulness no guru could match.