Control is just an illusion

Who knew the path to enlightenment was a road full of chickens?  With the first hen house, I was adamant about the hens sleeping in their house at night.  However, a handful of Black Minorca hens thought otherwise and insisted on roosting in the trees outside of my back door. For about a week, I vainly attempted to pluck them out of the trees and lock them up in the hen house.  Of course, my attempts to do so sent them scrambling to other branches and one hen, in particular, always seemed to end up on the roof of the hen house staring down at me.  (I'm convinced she was mocking me.)  Now the "renegades" as I call them sleep every night in those trees and have been joined by a few other hens. They are the first sight I see in the morning, usually rummaging around in my front yard or catching the first light of day on my porch.