I am a respectable hen, with well-kept feathers, a sharp sense of territory, and an observational ability no human on this ranch should ever underestimate.
And if there is one thing I can say with absolute certainty, it is this:
my human is in trouble.
It all started on a morning when he forgot to close the pasture gate.
That never happens.
Marco is the kind of human who checks if something is locked three times, then checks again just to be sure, and once more because peace of mind matters. But that morning, he walked away whistling some strange tune—completely out of key, I might add—and left the gate wide open as if his head was… somewhere else.
I observed from atop a pile of hay, eating a bug and silently judging.
Then came the singing.
My human does not sing. He grumbles, mutt
