Snowy path with crunchy crust, you approach the hen house. They approach you eagerly, anticipating some sort of edible gift. There is no gift. The hens slowly realize the reality of their situation and return to their scavenging. You produce a deep clucking bellow -- one last attempt to reach them. But it's too late, the hens pay you no mind. It is time to go.
Author: Skyfoogle