Privately, Anne thinks the dogs are probably better suited, and she'll make a bloody sorry excuse for a chicken wrangler, but she lets no hesitation show as she attempts rather awkwardly to steer the flustered little thing back toward the house. She knows, distantly, she must look like an idiot, hunched over, stance wide, trying to block the chicken's path as though it might try to tackle her in retaliation. Despite the absurdity of it, her expression is tensed and serious, full concentration on guessing the bird's next move.

It moves like a chicken, which is to say erratically, and Anne stumbles as she tries to head it off, narrowly succeeding in startling it back toward Greta's general direction. And at that moment, whether it's her own seriousness unraveling itself or just the ridiculous way the chicken bobs around, the absurdity catches up to Anne and she feels herself start to grin.