My chicken pen has eerily become the ill-fated commercial starship Nostromo. Unwittingly, I am playing the role of Ripley (Sigourney Weaver) in the hair raising Alien movie.
Third officer reporting. The other members of the crew, Betsy, Abigail, Myrtle, Greta, and Rocky are dead. Five of us have survived.
The terror of becoming prey has put considerable stress on my crew:
Our "starship" is nestled between two trees. One is an oak tree with branches creeping well into the chicken pen. I originally thought a predator could easily climb in and feast utilizing the low branches:
I ordered all low lying tree limbs cut and wire mesh lined up on top. The person I hired had other ideas however. Having plenty experience with chickens, he theorized that trees actually provide good cover from feathery predators.
Rather than heed my orders, he feverishly worked on boosting starship defenses. All gaps, no matter how small, were repaired and reinforced:
A trap was then set. A raw piece of chicken would serve as bait. How ironic: