The chicken pen---that looks akin to a war trench without the shrapnel---got shooshed and their hunched was relocated. There's bare earth where it was, a mix of hard soil and soft because when it rains the only dust bath is the one shielded by their quarters above.
It's nice out and I'm in wait mode for a call. So I went in and raked over that space, gouging clods from the ground.
They ran off when I entered but it didn't take long for all those not laying to get on in there and claw, claw, look, eat. They susserated as they scratched, lost in deep pleasure.
Chicken love---it's real and it's spectacular.