Mostly they discussed egg-laying, which, to them, and to the men who kept them, was their whole reason for existence. To lay an egg every day was the greatest goal toward which the hens strived. They never scratched at the earth in search of bugs, never took a warm dust bath in the sun, and never even raised chicks. Sadly, it is doubtful they even knew what these things were. Everything was egg-laying, and when their bodies were worn and abused and no longer capable of performing past the break even cost of their food, they were taken into the light and never seen again. The hens clucked nonchalantly when this occurred, for their minds had been so shrunken with disuse they never pondered such losses for more than a second. Even if they could, the hens would only be met with frustration as the number taken exceeded their ability to comprehend.

One day, the safe monotony of sounds was interrupted by a crash, followed by rustling. The hens were so unused to disturbances that they did nothing, and made no sound. There was sniffling and snuffling. Another crash was followed by shrieking as the cage containing our pullet was capsized. The door opened in the fall and pullets were everywhere. A doglike shape flashed its teeth in the dark, snatched several pullets, and ran. The young chickens remaining dashed madly around, flapping. Our pullet ran too, and by pure dumb luck she slipped into the hole the predator had dug under the barn wall and fell outside. The brilliant sunlight blinded the little pullet. She staggered around, blinking and panting, in a panic. Although the time she was blind seemed to her like an eternity, it was only a matter of minutes, followed by a much longer period of astonishment.

Chickens, like all birds, can see in color. The darkness that our pullet lived in inhibited this ability. So when she finally came to her senses, she was struck with how different the world looked now that it was in full, glorious color. Whereas before, in the barn, all objects were differentiated by the degree of blackness, here there were so many colors it was almost overwhelming to the little pullet's tired, rusty brain. The pullet cocked her head up to look at the bright blue sky with its gleaming white clouds. She looked to the green horizon so very far away and down at the lush, soft grass at her feet. She was distracted from her awe by the fast tempo clucking of a rooster calling his hens to food. Although she had never heard this sound before, some long forgotten instinct deep within her told her what it was, and she ran to him. When she came into sight, the rooster released a high trill which meant danger. They all froze, including the pullet, but, when no danger appeared, the flock resumed its activities.

The other chickens were red jungle fowl. All domestic chickens today are descended from these beautiful wild birds. It is not natural for chickens to lay eggs daily, that trait was bred into them, and along with it stupidity. How confusing it must be for a creature to be forced to produce children for human consumption, and to abandon them as if they were droppings. In contrast, wild fowl laid eggs only to brood.

As the pullet approached the flock, she was attacked by several hens. She was expecting this, and submitted easily, accepting her position as low bird in the peck order. Soon, she was scratching the ground and rolling in the dust as if she had been doing it all of her life. As the day waned, she knew to fly up to the low bushes and trees to roost. She found the hens here talked not of how many eggs they had laid, but of how they had passed the day. They talked of what adventures they'd had, what dangers they'd overcome, and how fine and strong their chicks were. At this point the pullet spoke.

"Where do you get chicks out here, where the man doesn't come?" The pullet had noticed that men never ventured outside. She was curious, because in the pullet's barn, a man brought new chicks to replace the old ones. Hens were never allowed to become broody and sit on eggs.

An old brown hen answered. "You silly pullet, chicks come from eggs, that we sit on and warm with the heat of our bodies."

"Eggs," the pullet whispered. "Where I come from eggs are taken away, and it is good to lay as many as possible. We never sit on our eggs. That would be selfish."

"Selfish!! Selfish is what these men are being when they change our bodies to suit them. It is unnatural, and it is stealing," the old hen replied.

Now that she had seen the truth, the pullet thought about what might happen if she were to return to that dark madhouse, and listen to the hens boast about their eggs. She felt disgusted and ill about that.

What if she tried to tell the other pullets about this outside world? They would laugh at her and call her lazy, or stupid, or worse. They would call her foolhardy for wanting to live outside in the sun, open to all dangers, when she could be safe and secure in the knowledge that she would never need to think or act for herself. The other pullets in her cage might even try to kill her for speaking of such nonsense as hatching eggs, dustbaths, tender grass, and tasty worms. Weeping inwardly, she realized she was powerless to help the others. Their fate lay with the whims of the men who fastened the chains and moved the shadows of reality. Even if the chains were released and the shadows revealed, ultimately, they were all too afraid of the light and too eager for the food the man brought to them. In other words, the hens', as well as the men's, preference would most likely be for the safe and the known, even if it could only lead to their detriment, rather than face uncomfortable questioning of their core beliefs about the way the world was.

Day to day life is just a representation, and a poor one at that, of a reality beyond our knowledge. The hens' experiences in the battery cages are mere shadows of what their lives could be. So the chickens lived, day to day, laying eggs, eating, and dying without ever knowing there was any better life for a chicken. Are you???