Not very well. Here’s one reason why.
While I was taking the photo of Voltaire, one of the new chickens was eating my crocs. What is it with poultry and plastic footwear? They all go for them!
Our tiny flowerbed in front of the house has had a bad year. Lambo, our hand reared Suffolk sheep, escaped one day and ate the one rose that had actually produced a bloom this year. He also trampled on the clematis. The poor thing gets smaller every year.
The chickens and Nessie generally sunbathe on the poor struggling plants, despite us putting various dissuasive objects in the way. All to no avail.
And finally today the nine turkeys got out and spent the afternoon, as I discovered later, having dust baths in the polytunnel on top of my peppers, new lettuces that were just getting going, one of my few melon plants, the comfrey and the coriander. They’re all flattened and I don’t know whether they’ll perk up again or give up the ghost.
I hate turkeys. Live ones, anyway.
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