The Birds Don't Like the Bread...

Here's a small report from the car-port coop: there are still five of them, and they still roost in the rafters pounce from above like velociraptors, and they still don't lay eggs, and they eat anything. Well...almost anything. Interestingly, even creatures with no brains seem to maintain certain gastronomical standards, not deigning to indulge in comestibles deemed beneath their feathered dignity.

Don't believe me? If Mom will oblige, she'll upload the photo from her wee sleeket in which one can distinctly make out the alabaster block lying undefiled in the center of the greenhouse. This is the remnant of your bread, Lex, which has not followed the usual pattern of peck-marks into oblivion like most edibles introduced to the fowlry. It has not perceptibly changed since it left the bread-box...two weeks since! I expect some sort of explanation/exculpation in the comments, sir! Special recipe with arsenic?

Here is the picture. Love, Mom