I asked Lenore if she knew anything about the fruit, bread crumbs and leftover pizza that was left for the chickens in a bowl by their roost. It mysteriously vanished, along with birdseed spilled under the feeder, alfalfa bits for the donkeys.

Lenore came out to run around in the ice and snow. “Lenore,” I said in a stern voice, “did you eat the chickens food?”  She was the picture of innocence.