To fully appreciate this column you'll have to find a freshly fed chicken and, with a firm grip, hold its stomach to your ear.
What you will hear, I've just read, is the sound of the chicken's gizzard grinding away. It's a grating noise, I assume, never having done this myself.
The gizzard — which is the stomach in all birds — has a rough, sandpaper-like inner surface that reduces food items to digestible mush. Bits of grit and gravel are ingested to boost the grinding, and the pebbles are manipulated by contraction of stomach muscles. It seems to be a noisy process.
Bird digestion is more interesting than you might think. I learned this while searching the Web for information about pellets, which are little bundles of animal parts that can't be digested by a bird. The stomach — and it appears that birds have stomachs much superior to ours — takes bones and fur or fish scales, and forms a mass that the bird then hacks up.
Owl pellets are the best known. The pellets can be disassembled for close study. There are bones in there, and teeth, all wrapped in fur that has seen better days. Fur forms the casing of the pellet. It covers sharp bone ends, easing passage of the pellet as it's coughed up and out the throat.
If you know your mammal bones, it's sometimes possible to identify the meal by species.
I presently have a cigar box full of pellets, a wealth of these hard-to-find items. My grandson and I found them this summer beneath the roost of a pair of great horned owls. It was a wow moment. Pellets are ejected about six hours after eating. (Find a roost, maybe find a pellet.)
There must be 30 pellets in the box. And one moth ball to discourage whatever. Pellets can be a big hit in elementary-school classrooms. (Pellet excitement generally exists in inverse relation to age. I'm an exception.)