Saturday 28 July 2018

puppies, pigeons and colin


This little chap is ten days old and about to open his eyes and take stock of the world around him.



Hopefully he is going to join us in about 7 to 8 weeks time. Pixie is sad without Beezle and a new companion may be just the ticket. But Pixie's nose is bigger than this little chap (a lurcher) so I am slightly concerned with how they'll get on. I don't think she'll eat him but she's developed a fearsome growl since Beezle died telling any dog she comes across she wants to be alone. She's quite a Garbo. In fact Greta Garbo said I want to be let alone not left alone but where's the quote in that? I'm sure she didn't say either when she went to our village shop. She was great friends with Cecil Beaton who lived in our village and would often stay with him and go and buy fags from down the road. I wonder what Sue behind the counter made of her. It is reported that at a drink's party at Cecil Beaton's, Greta sat at the feet of the village doctor and looking up at him said "tell me, what are mangel-wurzels and what do they do?"


 I had to put these pics on as I think they are so funny. This pigeon has made a rudimentary nest on the stairs of our daughter Phoebe's flat in Brighton. This has not been arranged in any way. It flies in and out through the top window, waddles down the stairs and sits on the eggs.
 and now we come to Colin.
 Colin was brought to me by a family in Gosport who had rescued him and he needed a friend. He's quite old and at the moment only seems to be able to fly downwards. But we have hope he'll fly upwards one day. Here he is on the first day of meeting Croaky (with the green tag) Croaky loved him/her at once and started talking in a baby croaky voice and following Colin around. Neither of them are tame and that's how we'll keep it and soon they'll fly off and join the others who wheel around in the skies above us with hundreds of house martins and sparrows.
 I leave the door open to the shade tunnel so the birds can come and go as they please. Here is Colin outside. He marches around occasionally flapping his wings and hopping onto things within his reach. The only draw back is that other birds come into the tunnel now and steal the food. Particularly a fat pigeon who eats all the mealy worms then sits nonchalantly on a branch next to them. Before I let the other birds in I noticed that Croaky eats like a horse and consumes much more food than even Pixie. (he obviously hasn't attempted a sofa or shoes like Pixie though)


The duck hatching was not so successful. And I have learnt not to count my chicks until they're hatched. Or even after they've hatched. Out of twelve eggs laid between them only four hatched. The tremendous heat with no moisture in the air I believe hardened the shells so that they could not all get out. Two of the ones that did died pretty immediately. One I'm sure suffocated in the heat and the other got his head stuck under something and died on my lap. But each lady duck has one remaining duckling. Both boys unfortunately so I've had to move another male duck into the garden to make space.


Pixie said she didn't want  to do interesting facts on this blog any more but would rather do bon mots.
She says that what makes a Hero is to face simultaneously one's greatest suffering and one's highest hope. I said who said that? And she said Beezle and I said I think you'll find it's Nietzche and she said maybe she'd stick to the interesting facts after all.
 Meanwhile Lord Pocket (quarter Bengal) says he'll consider taking over the post. (the job not the letters.)
Rosa Margaret Merrill before the heat hit us all.


I thought it time I put one of my poems up. I wrote this when the end of the world was coming a few years back.
                                 


The Rapture

(the transporting of believers to heaven at the Second Coming of Christ.)


 The end of the world did not come
for man or beast on the appointed day
there was no interplay of complex, natural forces
no Satanic army, tsunami or Armegeddon
only a rain - filled sky and a wind -
a vortex, that blew stronger than usual
from the East.

And yet it was the end for the badger
who lay, his face squashed into a grin
by the side of the road
the end for the dolphin - friendly tuna
who on that day swum into the net
for the man on the rails at Godalming 
causing trains to be subject to delay
the end for the Humming -bird hawkmoth -
blown into the screen of an oncoming car
for the nearly born foetus aborted too late.

When the Heavens turned black
it was merely the beating wings of ravens
who flew overhead
waiting for the souls of the righteous.

The raptors – not “the rapture”.