We’re mostly vegetarians in this family, so no, I don’t mean chicken for dinner. I mean what happens when we put our leftover dinner scraps on a plate outside the front door and whistle. The chickens come and have their dinner. Chickens are, as a friend of mine is fond of saying “rather far from nature,” but they can learn. They know now, for instance, that a whistle at the front door means there’s likely food, and gosh do they come running! It sometimes feels like a variation on Hitchcock’s “The Birds” — “The Poultry,” perhaps.