Ghost is disgusted with my chronic mismanagement. Bad enough when it t-storms in the afternoon, which is the usual Monsoon pattern. But when it dawns drippy and gray and everything’s wet and the mud’s everywhere, well, that’s just beyond excuses. He is grumpy and pointedly refusing to pay attention to my suggestions, though he did reluctantly accept a Jeep ride.
We met Ian in his fruit tree grove, drizzle and all, to borrow his empty chicken coop and move it to my complete failure of a garden…
Next I’ll roof the enclosure with bailing twine to encourage inside things to stay in and outside things to stay out, and then I’ll go and attempt to round up Landlady’s three feral – and increasingly formidable – Auracanas. I’ll leave them alone in there for some days, and then think about removing the twine to see if they’ll forage and return. In terms of our affection for these birds, no one will be heartbroken if some predator makes a meal of them. But I’m trying to get over my impulse to seek the death of every bird that causes me trouble. Egg-wise, it’s almost always a poor economic decision. New ones take several months to come on line and always always bring new and interesting problems.
