In a cramped henhouse, the clucking intensifies as the hens' hormones rage. Feathers ruffle, plumes fan out, and beady eyes dilate with lust. They peck and strut, their movements growing more frenzied by the second. The air fills with the scent of damp earth and musky hen aroma. One dominant hen, her comb a vibrant red, pins another to the ground, mounting her in a flurry of wings and squawks. The henhouse echoes with their primal mating calls, a symphony of desire and release.