The girls munching their way through the catoneaster berries.

I am equally as fond of wild birds as I am of my girls and, at this rate, there will be no berries left for the wild ones by the time the hard weather arrives.

I think this is the first half-critical thought I have had about my brood: except, possibly, that hen-shit sticks to the soles of your shoes more efficiently than any adhesive I have used!