Into the woodshed last evening to collect the day's offerings: greeted by churrs, trills and much fluffing of feathers. In the gloom a grey head peered over the edge of the nest-box; one of the four Coucou de France girls was sitting again. I think they wait until the end of the day before selecting the biggest clutch and I've lost count of how many times they've pulled this trick.
She was moved this morning, clucking indignantly, into an isolation cage -as the woodshed is not predator-secure; I made a quick check of her haul: nine.
She was moved this morning, clucking indignantly, into an isolation cage -as the woodshed is not predator-secure; I made a quick check of her haul: nine.