Flock Together

They would screech, sometimes, in the middle of the night, especially if Charlie Fox was on the prowl. They roosted in a shed, just behind our farmhouse, at the top of some mossy stone steps. They lived a cosy life, with a wire-run to let them spread their wings, which is more than the mass-produced Continental imports, filling most of our supermarket and butchers’ shelves have. The French love the bird, probably due to their lack of proper game (in France, it isn’t an official game bird unless you are off shooting it in a jungle somewhere in a far-off land!).