A Recurring Train

Miles said good night to the chickens. They were perched inside the coop, above his head. As he raised his arm to pet Big Red, his favorite hen, another chicken pecked Miles's wrist.
Big Red sat still, allowing my son to touch her ample chest feathers. If she could have purred, she would have.
"She never pecks you, does she?" I asked Miles.
"She never pecks anyone, right Ma?" Miles asked. I told him I couldn't recall her ever pecking a human.
"That's cause she's teached."
"Trained?" I suggested.
Trained, he repeated, smiling, closing the coop door.
Train.