Each morning a robin waits for early doors, for me to feed the hens
Knowing that there will be a little feed left just for him, placed on top of the chicken run. What strikes me is how he can go from, plump, plum pudding round with a modelling contract for a Christmas card, to a fretful anxious looking anorexic in a two yard flit from garden wall to chicken run. It’s the same bird honest.
And it had already been feasting on the bird feeder.