The firing squad

As I walk down to my own plot there is a horrible messy allotment on the right hand side, surrounded by a six-foot wire fence. It seems solely used to keep a dismal bunch of scrawny, rag-tag chickens who nervously peck around on the bare earth inside their prison. The whole thing stinks, looks ugly and worst of all it is populated by a huge number of rats. I rarely see anyone there. However, last week as I headed home, I was startled to see a group of three men in drab clothing, standing in line in an eerily familiar posture, all with air rifles trained on the rat holes. I tried to strike up a conversation but they were immersed in their grim task and I quickly left them to it. By the looks of it they haven't had much success, the rats are just getting fatter by the day.