Or at least ineffectual.
Autre and the chicks managed to escape their pen in the chicken house. OK, it was a lame pen. So I slowly pursue her around the chicken yard, trying to take it easy on her poor leg. She freaks out, runs past me one way, runs past me the other way. I am not winning, and she is limping. I finally wave her into the chicken house, and close the little chicken door. I go around into the human door, corner her, reach down… and she goes through my legs and out the human door, which I had neglected to pull closed. So the chicken I'm trying to protect is limping and loose in the wide world full of predators. Good job.
She gives me this sharp, disappointed look – "What the hell is wrong with you today?" – and limps off down the hill.
Later I find her outside the chicken yard, talking to her chicks, and shoo her in. I beef up the pen, and close the little family up tight when they come in for bed.
The little guineas keep sneaking through the fence and boobling off with their irresponsible uncles while mom fusses and calls from the chicken yard. In a few more days they'll be safer, too big to squeeze through the wire, but I worry about them injuring a foot or wing on the fence. Ot getting eaten by the neighbor's cat, who is fond of tender young striped-ass birds. Or stepped on by a goat.
One of the little pied guys spied a big old grasshopper in the yard today, and snatched it up and ran off with it. All the others zipped after her, trying to grab it away. The hopper would struggle and she'd drop it and try to peck it in to submission, then have to take it up again and hustle away from the other little birds. I don't know who won. Fierce little birds.
We picked peas, tomatoes, cucumbers and greens for the bunnies. C. has the fridge full of carrots to can.