My Husband has dubbed our mixed flock of runners and cambells the Storm Troopers for their love of charging around enmasse. When one spies the possibility of a tasty snack they all charge headlong shouting their battle cries which usually brings the chickens to see if they can get any. If the snack potential happens to be a person kneeling in the flower bed to plant something they find themselves surround by a flash mob of birds.
Walking out with the snack bucket or god forbid, a bunch of grapes, is like a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie. My Poor neighbor discovered they know plastic shopping bags usually mean bread. Thankfully she knows birds so was just laughing as she stood trapped in my driveway surrounded by the mob demanding she hand over the loot.
Walking out with the snack bucket or god forbid, a bunch of grapes, is like a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie. My Poor neighbor discovered they know plastic shopping bags usually mean bread. Thankfully she knows birds so was just laughing as she stood trapped in my driveway surrounded by the mob demanding she hand over the loot.
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