Angus carried the featherless mite down the drive, hoping to find a new home for it in a nest he'd seen at the workshop the day before.
He trudged dejectedly back home, having found the nest and its contents dashed to the ground by the pitiless wind.
We hunted around and found another nest in a more sheltered spot, so I climbed the ladder and deposited the squirming bundle into the nest where some similar size chicks were snuggled and we hoped for the best.
Some animals haven't been so lucky - we've spotted a stoat lurking around the cowshed and, having no great love for these pestilential mustelids, borrowed a stoat trap from some friends.
Our local stoat must be too wily though, because all we've managed to catch so far is an unfortunate baby hedgehog.
I'm sure if chocolate lab Milo could reach the bait he would, the dog eats anything that could conceivably be food, and a few things that possibly aren't.
He has a battle on his hands every morning, though.
We have one rogue chicken (Gladys) who refuses to be caged. We let our chickens roam free through winter, but in summer they play havoc in the garden.
I wasn't surprised when the flock plundered the strawberries, but I was dismayed when they developed a taste for the chillis.
So the rooster and most of his harem spend a few months in their summer residence - all but Gladys, who roams wild and takes her pickings where she can.
She soon learned that Milo is a messy eater and she could scavenge crumbs from around his bowl.
But lately she's grown bolder and has begun trying to help herself from the bowl itself - while Milo is eating.
It takes a lot to ruffle Milo's generally placid demeanour, but Gladys and her bowl-raiding ways have struck a nerve.
He has to regularly interrupt his scoffing to growl and snap and keep her at bay, but the determined chook doesn't take his threats seriously and is back a few seconds later for another crack.
Feeding time is the highlight of Milo's day and he bounces around as much as an overweight and elderly labrador with a metal plate in his spine is capable of, tail lashing ferociously.
So I was slightly surprised the other day when I filled his bowl and he didn't bounce, wagged his tail half-heartedly and ploughed into his food with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
Our son Jack usually feeds Milo, but he was away at swim camp, and I worried that maybe the dog was feeling the heat and maybe I hadn't given him enough water.
He finished eating and lay on his side, grunting and panting.
But then I discovered the leftovers I'd brought back from camp to feed the chickens had been plundered. More than plundered, demolished.
An entire bucket and baking dish full of food, emptied. Hmmm, wonder where they went, I asked Milo, who raised his head and looked faintly guilty as he wagged his tail feebly.
It took two days until he was back to his normal chirpy self, the greedy pig.
