There really is such a thing as a pecking order among chickens. The chicken with the most social standing gets pecked by the others the least. He gets to eat first and enjoys all the privileges of the poultry upper class. The lowest on the totem pole gets pecked the most and eats last. Most chickens, of course, fall somewhere in between, the vast proletarian masses of egg layers and broilers, leading lives of quiet desperation. This chicken here is the king of our flock:
I know you're not supposed to name animals you plan on eating, but I call him "Little Stalin". It's not the most affectionate name, anyway. Isn't he ugly? No hair on his neck at all.
Here are some of our proletariat chickens, (Little Stalin's Mindless Minions, if you will):
We've kept them all alive and growing for a month now. I'm practically a professional.
Little Stalin and the Pecking Order would be a good band name, no?