Wednesday, October 24, 2012

A kestrel killed my pigeon

Thursday evening it was, just getting dusk, when all decent birds are settling on their perches for the night, fluffing up their feathers and indulging in a quick territorial fight with those other birds infringing on their personal spaces.

I leave the loft - sorry, the door to the North Sea Camp bird rescue centre - open. Well, in the evening I let the birds go in and settle at their own pace. It seems fair to me because that's what I like to do. I normally wander round there just as dusk is falling, give them all a drink and lock them in for the night. Thursday night was no different, I did exactly that. But as I rounded the corner of the loft, I saw a flurry of activity by the leg of my rustic bench (pause for sniggering) and a kestrel flew off. In the fading light it looked like a bit of a plastic bag wafting in the breeze, but when I got closer I saw that it was one of my birds. Clearly it was in a great deal of trouble. Its back had been ripped open and the back of its head was gone. I had no choice - I had to finish it off and threw the body in the bin, feeling very disappointed. Well, I have spent months bringing up each and every bird from chicks, so it's a  bit disappointing to lose one like that. The bloody kestrel had the front to fly back to try to get its supper, but buggered off when it saw me. I know this much - the birds are now getting into the loft early in the evenings.

So, that puts me down to twenty-eight birds, including The Stranger, who still hasn't got a ring on his leg because I haven't tried to arrest him yet. I'll let him get used to the loft first.

Well, next week I am off out for the day. I think I've got some family members coming but I'm not sure who, not yet. I expect I'll  find out during the coming week. I have also got good old Amanda driving down to spend the day. We can all go for a meal at my favourite bistro in town - that is always a good idea.

I've lost The Wallace! Apparently she has been required to hand me on, like an ould pair of wellies, to a lesser mortal. Of course she is going to oversee matters, but from a distance as she sits in her ivory tower of management.

And I no longer have to worry about home leaves, that is all being done by others in THEIR ivory towers. So that's nice to know.  One day, when the wind is in the right direction, I will have an ivory tower of my own, but I don't imagine that anyone will be waiting for me to make any life-changing decisions for them - I wouldn't want to really.

Finally, my solicitor has requested a date for an oral hearing from tbe Parole Board, so I can only hope he gets one soon. Well, at least it won't creep up on me like a kestrel at dusk, sharp talons and equally sharp beak tearing at my back and skull. Mind, after all the years, I probably wouldn't notice until I felt the blood running down my neck. Make a nice change from the knives in my back I suppose.

Ha! That makes me sound quite bitter, but on reflection I realise that, actually, I'm really not!  What is the point of harping on about the past? Nobody and nothing can change that - not even God. Let it go. Put it down to experience and move on to better pastures.

The mill cannot grind with the water that is past.

The Voice In The Wilderness

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