Man Cannot Live on Bread Alone (but chickens obviously can)

Mr O has developed the habit of feeding the chickens spare bread at the back door. The result of this is that every time I open the door to go out I am harangued by six fat ladies who demand bread with menaces. This is fine when I have some to give them, but when I am empty handed I have taken to peering out to see if the coast is clear, and if they start running towards the door (they seem to have remarkable hearing) I get the urge to switch the light off and hide behind the sofa like you do when the Jehovah's Witnesses come calling.
Of course I've thought of closing the gate, but chickens can fly, so this is no barrier. Unfortunately when we left for church this morning I realised I had forgotten my Bible and had to come back for it. I was in such a hurry I left the gate open and the chickens came running in with the determination of women who had been queueing all night outiside Harrods during the sales. I didn't feel I could run the gauntlet going back again, so I ducked out through the garage door to avoid them. It's basic cowardice, I admit it.
I retract my comment of yesterday that 'no-one's going to notice a Fiat Panda, are they?' because we went into the church coffee shop after the service where half way through my Americano frappe latte machiato a man came in and said in a loud voice, "Would the owners of the Fiat Panda please move it as soon as possible as you are blocking the exit!" So much for anonymity then.