This huge pile of dirt served, at first, as a political hill for the roosters. At the end of each day the winner of the climb would pose at the top of the hill and crow his lungs out. He fought his way to the top. Now weeds have grown all over the dirt pile and the new chickens use it for their hiding place. During the day I will look for my 30 Cloelles and won't see a sign of them. At dusk they will begin to pour out of their mountain and head back to the pen.