After several dark, misty days, the sun god is out in force, filling the air with its brilliance. At first I wondered if I had a dead chicken on my hands. Not by a long shot. She’s found a warm spot in the dirt and has laid down to soak in as much of the sun’s rays as possible. She’s just dead to the world, off in dreamland, dreaming what chickens dream.
See, she’s opened an eye to peek around for a second before drifting back to sleep. With other chickens nearby preening themselves, she doesn’t have to worry about any approaching danger. They’ll alert her if she needs to make a run for it.
Chickens love the sun. One of the cruelest things you can do to a chicken is not let them spend hours outdoors in the sun.