"Oh, for—" Greta huffs out a laugh as she gets to her feet. This isn't the first time one of the hens has got loose. Normally, it's the dogs who take care of rounding them up. But there are two of them and only one loose hen; they should be able to manage.

Anne has the sense to fix the bit of fencing, first, so the others stay penned in (though one or two do watch with interest as their freed cohort sprints off). "Here," Greta says, starting to walk a wide arc around the escaped creature. "If we get her up against the house, or something, one of us should be able to make a grab at her. The dogs do this all the time," she adds with a wry smile, "so it can't be that hard."