Jailbirds, the villain and the hero.

Rocky the Rooster and his girls are in confinement.

I am trying to make their life interesting by

varying their feed.

They gobbled down their porridge this morning

which had been cooked in some left over soup.

I gave them some fresh hay to scratch through 

and raked them up some leaves.

It still makes me sad that they can't

free range at the moment.

But it is for their own good.

 It took me a few goes to get a satisfactory picture

of The Villian...the reason for their incarceration.

She is Daisy...a rather rambunctious adolescent of mixed parentage.  She belongs to my Great Nephew, who is between houses.  

Daisy is a rescue dog that he couldn't pass up

and she needed somewhere to live for a few weeks 

till he moves into his own house. 

She loves to chase things, especially flappy, squawky creatures.

I had to remove both Heckle and Hortense from

her jaws when they ventured over the fence.

Poor Hortense...survivor of maternal abuse,

a fox attack and now a dog mauling...

I think she must be running out of lives.

Heckle was bruised 

and missing enough feathers to stuff a small pillow

but has made a good recovery.

The resident dog has been bullied into submission and is perfecting her, 'I'm not really here', look. 

But the hero, the surprise hero, is Mickey the fourteen year old tabby
He is the most docile and neurotic of felines,
frightened of his own shadow and
at the very bottom of the cat pecking
(scratching?) order here.

In the first few days, when there was a rather fearsome dog fight...

Mickey leapt into the fray with claws bared.  

He threw himself onto Daisy again and again till she desisted.

So things have quietened down

and there is a feline enforced cease fire in place.

Anytime there is a rumble of trouble,
Super Mickey appears out of nowhere to referee.

Progress is being made...

Daisy now sleeps in her OWN bed

(this is a VERY big deal),

and is learning that the world does not end if you are 

outside on your own, for short periods.  

She can now wait, 

with a treat held under her nose,

for me to say OK before she takes it.

Even The Cook is finding her commanding voice.  

For a while I was worried I may have to place her in

protective custody with the hens for her own safety.