How ‘chicken yoga’ came to the Cotswolds
From our UK edition
Halfway through a downward dog, red-faced and breathing a little too hard, a hen stops about 18 inches from my face. It squats, and lifts its a tail a fraction. There is a brief, unmistakable pause. Something warm and biological drops onto the mat beside me. It is not an egg. From the front of the class, the instructor’s