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Spring has sprung,
The grass has riz,
I wonder where the birdies is?
I know exactly where the birdies is - they are lying face down in my
compost heap - wings extended, nestled into the warmth of the compost,
with the avian equivalent of silly grins on their faces. They
just lie there, soaking up rays, blissfully ignoring me sweating and
heaving beside them, as I battle to liberate a chestnut tree from the
stranglehold of a demented potato vine.
These same magpies will be dive bombing me in a couple of weeks I
suspect, when they start nesting. Will they remember the lovely
warm compost heap I made for them? - not likely! I'm too old (and
vain) to wear an ice-cream container on my head, but I suspect we are
going to have cross words before spring is over.
Calvin the Cat goes nowhere near the compost heap, in order to avoid
having to do anything about the dozing magpies. Challenges to her
dignity are mostly ignored, although she did give Angel, the Jack
Russell from next door, a bit of a tickle-up this weekend.
Our front door had been left open whilst Mr S was yarning with our next
door neighbour, and Angel interpreted this as having permission to
venture inside the house. Big mistake!
I was working in the study at the end of the house, when Angel rushed
past me into the fartherest corner of the room, hotly pursued by
Calvin. Hair on end, back arched, spitting and hissing, she is clearly
intent on terrifying the tripes out of poor Angel, and frankly, when
she's in full hue and cry she terrifies the tripes out of me, too.
Angel is disgracing herself by evacuating both orifices simultaneously,
and my only hope of stopping her is to force Calvin out of the
house. Interposing myself between Angel and Calvin strikes me as
needlessly foolhardy, but brandishing the rubbish bin for protection, I
advance on Calvin making as much noise as I can.
This is not my finest moment - I both look and feel ridiculous.
Mercifully, despite appearances to the contrary, I'm smarter than she
is, and I finally manage to back her out of the room, so that Angel can
make her exit, smartish, and I can clean up the carpet.
Angel has not been sighted since, and Calvin is once again snoozing
peacefully on the back porch. The wood-ducks have marched up from
the reserve in a group of about a dozen, but they peel off in pairs,
one pair per house to placidly grub for worms, or just doze in the warm
grass.
Now that I have reclaimed the study, peace reigns. Surrounding by
dozing birds and animals, I start to daydream myself. I suppose
the Prime Minister never has to worry about incontinent pets, or
getting hat hair from an icecream container, but he does have to spend
Spring rampaging around the country exhorting us all to vote for him.
I'd rather be me than him.
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Change of Life 
