I am not referring, of course, to the disintegrating figure of your Old Scrote, or even to the handsome hairless farmer next to me, but to the three Barn Owl chicks that we are holding.
At the time - about a week ago - the weather had been atrocious, so, not surprisingly, all three owlets were underweight. The farmer, who has access to a supply of dead day-old chicks, promised to send his wife down to the box first thing every morning to provide supplementary feeding. Let's hope they survive (I mean the owlets, tho I also hope that his marriage survives too).
And here they are in closeup. Nature doesn't get much cuter than this.