The happy place

The gray old hen is lovely.

Most days, she goes to roost already before six, keeping her head tucked in under her beautiful little wing up on one of the special shelves. When I go in to the coup to tend to them, (you know; check the water and food, count them usw,), for an instant she groggily wakes up and opens her eyes to slits, we make eye contact and when I move my head from side to side, she does too, mirroring me. We do this a couple of times back and forth and feel the special connection that we have and our mutual understanding.