Every morning, even at 30 below, she elbows (wings?) her way out of the warm stable where the other hens are happily nibbling under the heat lamp and snowshoes her way to the Summer Coop.
Where, we point out, there is no food. No water. No heat. There she hops into her summer nest, and carefully produces one perfect egg.
Then she spends the rest of the day in the door of the coop, sadly eyeing the snow she has just waded through, and refusing to return. When we scoop her up to rescue her (and the perfect egg) she is shivering.
Brains like this might well explain why dinosaurs became extinct.
I am, however, contemplating stitching her a very tiny harness, and providing her with a very tiny sled for her arctic expeditions. That, or a teensy pair of snowshoes...