I’ve been to vineyards in Sonoma and on the Central Coast. I’ve seen chickens in them. Wandering around, scratching at the ground and doing chicken stuff. They ignore the grapes; couldn’t care less.
Apparently down here in San Diego the chickens didn’t get the message. After I let mine in the mini-vineyard to scratch around, the feathered monsters picked the grapes nearly clean.
Of a dozen vines loaded with grapes, I have a single bunch left.
They’re not getting this one. It’s mine.