I took a few steps forward into the sea of chickens and then stood still. They had turned their heads towards us when the door opened, possibly sensing danger. But Chip kept on moving through them. He scuffed his boots through the dirty litter just as he had done in the woodland but, instead of leaves, he was also kicking birds out of his way. If this was a daily occurrence, then I could see why the birds might be stressed by the arrival of people. The floor moved like storm-driven whitecaps raging far out to sea as the birds flocked together to escape the centre of the storm – Chip’s boots.