I remember when we last had chickens in the backyard. It was a LONG time ago and my sister had brought back the grown-up chicks from school after the lessons on the life-cycle were over. They would flap over to the neighbor's house and perch on top of the swing (who says chickens can't fly?). Then came that horrible day when I was playing by myself in the backyard. One of the chickens chased me and I was screaming for someone to open the door which had slammed shut and was unopenable from the outside. It came at me and pecked my foot. Hard. On hindsight, it probably wasn't that bad, but it did draw blood and when you're in kindergarten, you always think it's the end of the world when there's blood. I've never quite liked chickens since, except fried.