Last night when it was almost dark, I went out to the house the young chicks were raised in and started grabbing them and tossing them in the hen house with the adults. I finally got them all in there, but I knew when daylight came, some of them would be able to escape the pen: The wire isn't chicken wire, but has openings that measure 2 inches by 4 inches. The smaller of the youngsters can still squeeze through an opening that size, especially when chased by an older hen. Chickens are mean to one another; they coined the term "pecking order".
This morning there was one escapee. We went to Versailles to buy a rusty old cheap livestock trailer, and when we returned, there were five chicks out roaming around, and seven still in with the big girls.
I turned all the chickens, big and small, out to roam, and pondered my options. I decided to let the youngsters return to the home where they were raised, wait a week, and put them in the "big house" again. By that time, maybe none of them would be small enough to escape.
A while ago I went out to shut all the birds in, and was amazed to find five of the "babies" on the roost in the big house. That was their choice. The other eight were in their old home.
I love watching animals make choices, and just like my own children and grandchildren, sometimes they surprise me.