WHY Won't She Let Us IN?

Open the door to their chicken-tractor (coop) and they practically run for the back door. Silly, I tell you. Hen Zen, as AmErica so perfectly described the other day. I am grateful that my taxman loved the idea of backyard hens enough to build them a home - just for me. Even though they'd rather be inside the house with me us. Look at this to see snow flying off Beatrice as she gives a good shake.

Earlier today I had this exchange with Dad:

Him: You know, this Chicago newspaper doesn't ever have ANYTHING AT ALL about west coast sports teams. It's as though they don't want us to know anything that's going on.

Me: The Internet blahblahblah...newspapers are going away blahblah...all news is at our finger tips...I'll go print you some LA news.

Him: Yea, but why can't they just write stuff that I want to read?

It's a conspiracy, Dad. Corrupt Chicago conspiracy.