An update: I wrote here a few months ago about the free-range (feral?) chicken who arrived at our home just before Christmas. When I drove into the driveway, there she was, pecking at the crackers my husband was tossing out to her. Inventive people that we are, we named her Chicken. We never found out where she came from. She took up roost under our deck, and thus began the daily ritual of appearing out front for food, then retreating to wherever vagabond chickens retreat to during the day. We feed her daily, as does our neighbor, Marilyn. Although we’re puzzled that Chicken has hung around so long, my husband points out that the chow, service and accommodations are pretty good here, so why move on?