#chooks

I've put one of the meat breed cocks with the layers. It may not work but he isn't too heavy and with any luck I'll end up with some hybrid chicks 🐣

THE SQUAD

ODYN "NINJA CHICKEN" - Supreme Commander First to hatch, first to disappoint. A professional catastrophist convinced that every sunny day is just nature's way of setting up tomorrow's disaster. His glass isn't half-empty—it's been smashed and the shards are breeding.

STAR - Lead Narcissist This chicken has mirrors the way most birds have feathers: constantly and without apology. Possesses the self-awareness of a particularly dense potato. Has never met a reflective surface she didn't immediately fall in love with. We suspect she's written herself love letters.

LUCKY - Logistics and Questionable Decisions Officer Our resident thrill-seeker who treats "should we?" as a rhetorical question. Will try anything once, twice if it's stupid, three times if it involves pain. His survival is scientifically inexplicable.

HELMUT - Second-in-Command Approximately 87% perpetual scowl, 13% pure seething antagonism, 0% joy. We've never seen him smile. We're not confident he can.

PENGU - Identity Crisis Specialist Hatched looking like a penguin. Currently looks like a bald eagle. Yesterday looked like something between a mop and a conspiracy theory. Nature is simply figuring it out as she goes. So are we.

RUBY (Definitely "Rube") - Gender-Confused and Unbothered The humans misnamed this one with the confidence of people who have never actually met a rooster. A comb is aggressively forming. All evidence points to Ruby being aggressively male. The humans remain in denial. Ruby remains indifferent.

MOTHER HEN - Field Medic and Human in Crisis A human woman who has experienced what scientists call a "complete psychological realignment" and now genuinely believes she's poultry. Don't ask questions. In an actual emergency, she's terrifyingly competent. We think the delusion gives her power.

FATHER CLUCK - Supply Officer and Mealworm Distribution Messiah His entire vocabulary consists of one word: "what?" Yet somehow, through pure instinct and possible divine intervention, snacks appear. We don't understand the mechanism. We don't ask. The snacks are sufficient.

RECRUIT VALIANT - The Fighter Perpetually ready for a brawl with something twice his size. Surprisingly hasn't died yet. This is the extent of his personality, and it's working out.

RECRUIT KEFKA - The Joker By all laws of nature, this bird should be dead. Nobody knows how he's still alive. He appears to be immortal through sheer indifference to personal safety. We've stopped asking questions.

FIELD REPORT: OPERATION MIRROR MANSION

Submitted by: STAR Date: Today (The Best Day Ever, Obviously)

The human did the thing. The wonderful, glorious, magnificent thing.

She took the original squad outside. INTO A PEN. An enormous pen that wasn't just some sad patch of dirt, it was the Garden of Earthly Delights. Room to run. Room to play. And most importantly, an absolutely massive full-body mirror where I could admire myself from every conceivable angle.

Reader, it was transcendent. I've never looked better. I maintain this assessment at all times, but today I was right.

Ninja immediately went into tactical mode, muttering about sightlines and plant-placement strategies like some kind of poultry strategist. He's weird, but he's usually right, so fine. I guess I'm grateful for whatever security theater he's orchestrating around my narcissistic paradise.

They spent three hours installing wire fencing while I dedicated myself to important work: standing in front of the mirror. Ninja was droning on about "predators" and "Diesel" (which I assume is some kind of enemy code name) and something called "safety." Apparently the wire isn't a prison, it's a protective barrier. The distinction matters to Ninja. I was simply glad for the aesthetic complement to my reflection.

Mother Hen then did what she does best: she gathered us like we're her actual children (the psychological boundaries here are nonexistent) and posed us for a photo shoot. Father Cluck, armed with some kind of documentation device, captured my magnificent profile. My good side, obviously. The only side.

Ruby looked like a disaster, feathers everywhere, like someone threw a blanket at a chicken and called it done. Pengu resembled neither a penguin nor an eagle, but rather a chicken having an identity crisis (joins the club, honestly). We're all just figuring it out.

Then back inside for tiny-mirror mediocrity and mealworms.

Status of New Recruits: Growing suspiciously large. Will be inflicted upon the general population soon. Additional Concerning Developments: Mother Hen has been handling eggs like they're her literal offspring. She says prayers worked on one (theological confidence seems scientifically dubious), but she also threw out five bad eggs that apparently developed their own smell problem. We didn't ask for details. Some knowledge is a curse.

Overall Assessment: Excellent day. Excellent photos. Excellent mirror. Excellent me.

Respectfully submitted, STAR Chief Narcissist, Coop Chronicles

P.S.  Ninja says he's planning "war games." We all know how this ends. Probably with Lucky doing something monumentally stupid and surviving through sheer luck. (See what I did there?)