Fran is the hen that could. I have to be honest. My general feeling about chickens is that they are dumber than fence posts, and less durable. Everything in the world wants to eat them, and they are dumber than all of the things that want to eat them, which gives them poor odds of living long walking around. Ironically, they are not as safe as the poor corporate chickens trapped in crates their whole lives. Foxes cannot get to them.

In America many people, most urban and suburban people who do not live around animals other than pets, simply cannot believe that all animals like chickens cannot be protected from the reality of the world. I was bombarded with ideas for multi-thousands of dollar chicken fortresses, solar guard alarms. One farm wife had the best idea. She played Tom Waits on a boombox all night. “His voice scares me,” she said,” and it keeps the foxes away. But not the minks. They are not afraid of him.” That’s one I could try. Farmers cannot afford such protection for hens, who are inexpensive and are kept around for eggs, not companionship.

Fran, like Meg, has transcended the role of the hen. She has weathered near starvation, abuse and neglect, a fox attack and sever wounds, broken wings, assaults by other chickens, who are not nice to one another. Injured chickens do not get support from the community, they get pecked to death. Here in the real world of real animals, we expect to keep our chicken buckets flexible. But Fran has won a place in the Chicken Hall of Fame. She will have good place to live as long as she can do it. A chicken that could.