Solomon Saturday grew up skeptical of magic. Magical things denied rational explanation and were far too difficult to quantify. And the 'magical' stuff that he was able to sufficiently analyze tended to have a scientific explanation. Pretty much all of things he studied, cryptids, were either just mutant organisms or the occasional alien. Though cryptids sometimes possessed abilities that seemed to break the laws of physics.
His wife on the other hand grew up in a temple surrounded by monks and mystics. If there was the possibility that something might be 'magic' whent went right along with it, though that did stop her from studying the thing too. Though she'd still call it magic even after he'd worked on a thorough explanation.
They'd argue about the magic thing on several occasions, usually ending with the two of them agreeing to disagree. There were times when Drew conclusively won, however. Those were usually when every attempt to explain just made things more confusing. Then his wife would get the smuggest look on her face.
Like now.
"I'm not admitting anything, but I am taking a tissue sample for the lab." Using a scalpel Solomon removed a small chunk of flesh from the scaly support beams holding up the strange cottage.
"It doesn't look like she's home at the moment." Drew called down.
"Just because it a chicken house that doesn't mean that it's her chicken house!"