Hen Chronicles: Who's really in charge here, anyway?

The sun had barely registered its presence at 5:30 this morning when Snow and Nellie began complaining by squawking and bouncing and flapping. They were raising hell, as only chickens can, to demand that they be released from the coop so they could tuck into their breakfast out in the pen. Hope, our sleepy-headed third hen, remained on the roost at the outset of this high-energy protest, but within minutes she too was ready to get a jump on her day.

I suppose I should abandon my naive illusion that I'm the ringmaster of this feathered circus. I may appear to be the guy in charge, but "the girls" are really calling the shots.