I recently acquired three lovely new hens, but so far my husband’s schemes to protect them from foxes with a goose patrol or drone have not reached fruition. Instead, I have implemented what my best friend has named Gooce, or Global Oversight of Chicken Existence. I’ve moved into the garden shed to guard them as they free range.
We are not talking about a heated home office here: it’s emphatically a shed. But there’s a power outlet and a knackered sofa, so if I wrap up well, they can roam safely for a few hours, at least until a new bird flu “flockdown” reaches us (there’s one happening in nearby East Yorkshire already).
