My chickens are pretty okay with any weather. When it’s hot they half lift their wings, open their beaks a little and cleverly stay in the shade. After an initial perplexity with rain (the first rain they experienced kept them literally cooped-up until that nasty wet stuff stopped falling) they take it in their stride. Periodically they’ll ruffle their feathers and shake to remove excess water but otherwise they keep grazing and digging. Perhaps they graze and dig a bit more under trees than in the open, but it’s hardly noticeable.
Then came their first hail storm. They must have thought the gods had betrayed them. Or was someone throwing rocks at them?!? The scooted at high-speed under their nest box and didn’t peek out until well after the hail had stopped.
Then it was Rosie-the-Brave who led the pack. Bronwyn, head chook and bully, stayed under the hard roof until she was sure the other two hadn’t died a painful death by stoning. Maybe that’s what all head chooks do, send out the bottom of the pecking order to make sure the coast is clear, but it seemed rather cowardly to me. Come on Bronwyn, you can do better than that!