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A toothed chicken is a fearful thing. You can be glad if you have never crossed one. They are a pompous and uncharitable fowl, prone to asserting their superiority with great snarls and hissings. Their flesh is not tender or nourishing like that of their unfanged kin; rather, it is ropey and resistant to easy digestion. They are antisocial animals and prefer the possibility of the wild to the comfort of the coup. This is just as well, as the conventional chicken is not at ease in its cousin's company. If you are a devoted naturalist and insist on confroting this unsavory bird, you might find one wandering the woods of Lozere or exploring the coasts of southern Italy. Inevitably, he is always alone and without direction.
