The hen is a wolf to man.
Look what they did to my grapes (sensitive souls, immediately leave this blog).
They had my full confidence. I let them wander as they please in private. And this is how they thank me, eating the logs of my ripest clusters.
I do not recall having seen a sight more terrifying except that of my mother coming up to me child, holding in his hand a tablespoon of cod liver oil.
Go hens, in the dungeon! Released after the harvest!
There are others who love the grape. These are starlings.
You should see them during migration per thousand whirling above the vineyards and the signal of the head (the one with the feathers barred with yellow), descend on the vines to revel in their clusters. In 2008 and 2009 swarms of thousands of people flying in the sky of Fleurie. Was Fortunately, after the harvest. The starlings were able to feast as only forgotten by grapes and verjuice grape, the grapes from the secondary entrecœurs.
But this year, the harvest will be later ...
So you, starling, if you read me a tip: Do not let me especially not to fly over my vines before harvest, if I look at the fate in store for you.
A word to salvation.
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