I love the focused industry of chickens. I used to deride them as dumb, but was called out in this shallow thinking by chicken lovers, gentle people but passionate in their appreciation of these hard-working, very busy animals. The chickens are out in the pasture these days, working on the fresh supply of Spring bugs and worms. They are barely bothering to notice their corn meal. But every afternoon around 3 p.m., they gather for their equivalent of afternoon tea, a reposo from their hunting and pecking and poking around. They love the rocking chair, and it looks like it is theirs, theirs and the barn cats. Maria and I will be sitting elsewhere.