I wandered to the bottom of the garden to throw some stuff down for the birds. The birds. The fairies can take care of themselves. While tottering back towards the house I became aware of a sort of twittering sound. Upon looking back and down, there was Mr. Blackbird hopping along after me nattering and twittering at me as I tottered along.
He seemed a tad upset and when I looked where he was pointing, saw the pigeons were back and cleaning up. {Yup, figured out the spelling of pidgin as well.}
What could I do? Move the pigeons on? I tried, “Shoo you rascals, shoo!” but the food had gone by then and they were quite happy to flap off further afield so no threat there then.
Me and her, or her and I, or us, no, we. We discussed this quandary for some moments. Our first thoughts were with the little guys, but, sadly, one of the pigeons only has one foot. Or is that claw? How can you refuse a one footed pigeon food?
What to do? You know what to do and what we be doing? It’s so obvious really. Two sittings is what we be doing.
First sitting is big lumps of stuff thrown out ‘couse you know the big guys will be in first. Just like school dinners; the big kid was always at the front of the line, right? I mean the big hard kid, not the big fat kid. {And he always seemed to get two puddings}. Why was it never called school lunch by the way?
Once the big guys are fed and away, we clean up a little, top up the water and then small stuff is put out for the little guys. It’s a bit more stressful in the kitchen for ‘her indoors’ but so far all the customers seem relatively happy with the arrangement and Mr. Blackie is back to singing rather than growling at me.
Quote; Jim Hightower.
"The only difference between a pigeon and the American farmer today is that a pigeon can still make a deposit on a John Deere."
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