9 Nov 2010

And Then There Were Pidgins….

Most days I put some bread out in the garden for the birds. You may remember the ghost storey – he’s still with us.

Recently we seem to have adopted a pair of pidgins, or viky-verky. Unlike the jaguar and Mr. Fluffy the bear, this adoption seems to be a free-bee. They appear, as if by magic, every time I venture outside and won’t move ‘till I’ve provided nose bag for ‘em.

I’m reminded of the early days of ‘her indoors’ being over here when we were walking along a beach of a town when we came to an area where a small stream, which ran behind a row of houses, emptied out across the beach to the sea. Bobbing up and down in the stream, behind the houses, were many ducks. I’m not a duck man, but I’m guessing Mallards? Sorry, but that’s the only duck name I know other than Donald.

“Who belong the ducks to?” she enquired.
”They’re wild.” replied I.
”They look okay. What make them wild?” she shot back.
”No, what I mean is they don’t belong to anybody.”
”You make fun of me, right?”
”No, not this time, honest.”
”Nobody touch him?”
”Not at all. They come and go as they please. A few days round the fifth of November may present the occasional challenge, but on the whole, a quiet, trouble free life.”

She pondered this for a while then said, more to herself than to me, “My country like this? Ten minutes; barbeque.”

Remembering this, I now keep a wary eye on her when the pidgins come to eat. I see a couple of tubby, bright eyed birds. She most likely sees a pot. On the stove. Simmering gently.

Quote; Chris Harris.

"France has found a unique way of controlling its unwanted critter population. They have done this by giving unwanted animals like snails, pigeons, and frogs fancy names, thus transforming common backyard pests into expensive delicacies. These are then served to gullible tourists, who will eat anything they can't pronounce."

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