our mutual friend

 

I love how different species pal up with each other. For instance when the magpie was a baby she was in a space next to the baby rook on the dining room table and within moments squeezed through the bars and sat next to the rook.

Here they are as babies demanding food. They now live out in the wild and yet they are still together. I might look up into the trees and they are both there - their friendship is so heartening.

And Geoffrey the rooster who grew up with  this duck - follows the duck where ever it goes and you can be sure that if the duck has broken into the poly tunnel - Geoffrey is there too.

Rocket sadly doesn't have a mutual friend (though sometimes he and Lenny the greyhound exchange e mails)- he tolerates Nancy and lives by the saying a dog is a man's best friend so he probably assumes I'm his friend.

   Nancy however says that on occasions Rocket could be considered a friend.

As I sit here writing this I hear the death throes of a fly stuck on the paper trap and the helicopter whirring of the European Hornet as it circles over the sink - like something from Apocalypse Now - Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries throbbing from its propellers. And yesterday a hummingbird hawk moth flew in and drew nectar from one of the flowers on the table. Normally Rocket would respond with barking and great excitement at all these insects but now he lies thinking up new jokes.

A woman buys a dog from a locksmith he tells me and as soon as she gets it home it makes a bolt for the door. I laugh and encourage him by clapping my hands.

He was still thinking up jokes when I took him to the nearby village's fete. Our favourite part was the hawk display. Lucy the kestrel dutifully came to the lure sitting pretty on the stand. She flew round the ring then up into the trees where she was joined by a wild kestrel - a male - and looped the loop a few times with him. Cedric the white tailed eagle just flew off. We left before Cedric returned if he ever did.

Nancy on the other hand said she'd been visited by the black cat and that its looming persistent presence drains her energy and steals all joy. 

Don't you mean the black dog? I ask her. She replies that no - if it were a dog it wouldn't loom it would chase her. Rocket says she'd probably just seen herself in the mirror.

The Ghost Pocket morphs into our conversation .  

 You will never be happy if you continue to search for what happiness consists of. You will never live if you are looking for the meaning of life. 

he says re-arranging his ears and staring at the mirror.

Albert Camus said that I tell him.

Bertie and I are great friends he informs me. He was a French philosopher, novelist, author,world federalist and political activist.

The Ghost Pocket continues trying to find his reflexion in the mirror as he speaks.

Did you know he says changing the subject that Odysseus built a giant wooden cat and filled it with the best warrior rats who when they entered the city of Troy ate all the cheeses leading to the city's destruction. 

Actually it was a giant wooden horse I tell him.

Bah he replies - I should know because Homer and I are practically joined at the hip and Homie was an ancient Greek poet who is widely credited as the author of the Iliad and the Odyssey two epic poems that are foundational works of ancient Greek literature.

He changed it to a horse later as they didn't get on with the Egyptians who as you know worshipped us cats.

What does he think of the new film - Odysseus? I ask.

The Ghost Pocket frowns. Oh we don't talk about the talking picture he says - we only discuss books - proper literature not celluloid.

How’s it going with the ghost writing? I ask the Ghost Pocket instead.

It’s going great guns – he replies giving up on the mirror remember thrice the brindled cat hath mewed ... he smirked.

 I’ve done some re-writes for my friend Will Wagglespeare He’s re-written something called Hamlet and he wanted a memorable quote from it so I’ve suggested

Tabby or not tabby – that is the question …..

 

Along with thousands of other authors I’m waiting to see if the money accrued from the financial settlement with Anthropic for using my book The Dog Ray (also published in USA) to teach AI how to write a children’s book - will actually appear in my bank. Although I never actually wrote it for children it was published as so. The Dog Ray is about a girl who dies in a car crash and comes back to Earth as a dog – though still retaining the knowledge of her twelve year old self. Wonder what AI will come up with. Perhaps it'll be about a dog who dies in a car crash and comes back as a girl ......

 

The village fete

 

 

 

They walked to the fete with jangling pockets.

Carter dragged his whippet round the ring

but did not win best in show.

 

Johnboy threw the wellie into the football net

it took two men to untangle it.

 

Jack’s sister sold her old hairbands on the bric a brac stall

their cousin Keith knocked over coconuts with a cricket ball. 

 

Mr Bundy won the largest onion

as well as the longest runner beans

 

Mrs Fry’s flapjacks won second prize

Mrs Hicks won the cup for her pickles.

 

Sally Fink’s daughter made a fudge monster

which Carter’s whippet ate before it was judged.

 

They ran out of hot dogs and the beer

became too warm to drink.

 

Jessica Brown cried when she didn’t win

the miniature garden on a plate 

but later was allowed to watch TV and stay up late.

 

The hawk in the bird of prey display

flew off across the fields

and wasn’t found until the sun went down.

 

Linda Coggin

from Small Talk