Sunday 28 October 2007

I am still in a state of some crossness.

Not with my partner (any more) - I had to recommence speaking to her because I needed her assistance in removing a pine needle that became stuck in my eye (oh yes). No, I am angered because of my recent lack of significant sleep. A couple of nights ago, my slumbers were disturbed by a pair of flirting owls. The male was in the hedge that lies virtually outside my bedroom window and the object of his lustful observations must have been at least two-thirds of the way down the field across the road (to judge from the volume of her replies). He kept up his flirting for a goodly while, with a barrage of saucy chat revealing him to be a true potty-beak. It made me feel quite nauseous. I assume his manoeuvres were ultimately successful because the hooting suddenly stopped. I daresay they took off to indulge in the Deed of Darkness, or whatever the owl-equivalent of the procreative act might be, but there was an end to my peace. Thoroughly awake, I could not get the horrific images of owl coupling out of my mind. Urgh.

And, the past couple of nights since then, some prize twerps have been letting off fireworks. Grrrowl. I'd forgotten that this time of year was approaching. My partner says she will procure me some sleeping draughts to preserve my nerves. They cannot arrive too soon.

But it is not all bad news - there have been some glimmers of light lately. You may remember the gitwizard lump of feathers and bone known as "The Buzzard". Well, I have been keeping out of his way of late, but returned to Abbotstone for a quick sniff-round with my partner the other day. It was well into the evening when we were on the path back to the car park and we approached a most beautiful-looking Barn Owl perched on a fence-post (bit owl-heavy tonight, I know, but stick with it). She did not fly away at our approach, and she seemed to be waiting for something. I stopped in front of her. "Good evening, my dear," I said. She nodded civilly to me. A sudden rustling, followed by a thump and a quiet grunt sounded from the clump of trees on the other side of the path. I heard the owl sigh. "Is everything quite well, madam?" I asked, "May I assist you with anything?" I was always brought up to be chivalrous to ladies (unless they are of the squirrel persuasion).
"No, thank you." said the owl. "I'm new to this area. I met a buzzard -" (alarm bells are ringing - can you hear them?) "- who said he would look after me, as I am a weak and helpless woman." She gave a small disgruntled snort at these last words. "He says he is hunting for food for me. But I don't think he is having much success." She began to pick shreds of bloodied flesh from between her talons. "I've had two shrews and a mouse while I've been waiting." I could not resist a smile at this history of my erstwhile 'friend'. Continuing with my noble endeavours, as she was clearly a weak and helpless woman, I pointed out the best hunting areas in the local environs, where the plumpest, freshest rabbits could usually be found. The elegant white lady continued cleaning her talons, but nodded her thanks. "That is very kind of you." she said, and we looked with bemusement towards the trees as another muffled thump and muttered swear words drifted toward our ears.
"What IS that idiot doing?" I asked.
"He thinks he is stalking a mouse." replied the lady. "But he's not."
"What is it he's hunting, then?"
"A potato."

She went on to explain that some picnickers had left a potato behind, and the numpty Buzzard thought it was a motionless mouse. He had, apparently, been dive-bombing the hapless spud for nearly fifteen minutes. I laughed, rather uncharitably, and the owl sighed again and shook her head. "I suppose I had better go and see if he wants a mouse to go with his potato, before he either starves or swoops himself to death." said the pretty lady raptor, and she rose elegantly into the air on her powerful white wings.
"Tell him that I prefer melted butter and cheese on MY potatoes." I called, and I listened to the soft, silvery sound of her laugh as she glided quietly towards the trees. A most satisfactory and amusing encounter.

I hope the owl DID pass on my message. It would give me great pleasure to know that the Buzzard knew that I knew about his having wasted a quarter of an hour in stalking and hunting a cold potato. Hee hee. What a tit.

Good night.