Lucy pressed against his leg, her usual morning greeting replaced by something more urgent. More protective.
"Look," Nettie continued, "I need something done about that bird. She's plotting something, I can tell."
"She's a chicken," Rita sighed. "Not a criminal mastermind."
Wyatt needed to leave. Now.
"Hey Sam," he kept his voice carefully steady. "Mind dropping me at the rental place after this?"
Sam turned to study him, and Wyatt felt the weight of his chief's scrutiny. After everything they'd been through, Sam haddeveloped an uncanny ability to read his officers. "Your mom ok?"
He shrugged, the movement feeling mechanical. "Yeah. She just needs me to pick up some medicine."
The lie tasted bitter on his tongue. Sam hade been a good boss. Wyatt looked up to him and he trusted Wyatt. The guilt of lying to him now felt like a physical weight.
Henrietta chose that moment to hop onto the lower rail and puff out her feathers like she owned the neighborhood.
Nettie pointed. “See? Posture of a tyrant.”
“She’s not a tyrant.” Rita folded her arms. “She’s a rescue. She was bred for show. She struts.”
“Bitsy is a lady,” Nettie shot back. “And that bird keeps dive-bombing her dignity.”
Bitsy took two delicate steps away from the fence. Henrietta followed, head bobbing. Bitsy froze.
Lucy let out a soft huff beside Wyatt, like she agreed this was ridiculous and also unacceptable.
Wyatt forced his mind into work mode. “Alright. Let’s handle this like grown adults supervising farm animals.”
“That’s why we called you,” Nettie said. “Animal diplomacy.”
Rita rolled her eyes but the edge had dulled.
Wyatt crouched by the fence line, scanning the yard. The smell of damp earth and feed sat heavy in the air. “Okay. Options.”
“Option one,” Nettie said, “you arrest her.”
“Wyatt,” Rita warned.
He held up a hand. “Option one is we create space. Chickens chase what they think they can boss. Goats don’t like surprises. We set up a visual barrier along this stretch—hay bales, a tarp, even an old sheet.”
“I have an old Patriots sheet,” Nettie said instantly.
“Of course you do.”
“Hey, it was a good season.”
Rita’s mouth twitched despite herself.
“Option two,” Wyatt went on, “we give Henrietta a new job. Scratch box on your side of the yard with treats. Keep her busy. Make Bitsy boring.”
“Bribery,” Nettie said, impressed.
“Enrichment,” Rita corrected.
Lucy nudged Wyatt’s knee. He scratched her ears, quick and automatic.
Rita shifted closer to the gate. “I can move Henrietta’s feeder away from the oak. That’s where Bitsy likes to nap.”