Tuesday, May 30, 2006

Little Bird 

Nestled in a verdant clearing in the shadow of Dent Head Viaduct, just downstream of the waterfall and the wooden footbridge, a friendly retired couple keep dysfunctional poultry.

There’s a duck who is afraid of water and makes panicky gasping for air noises when it should be quacking, and the turkeys are all mad for, you know, it. If they were Native Americans turkeys - which they could be for all I know - their names would be ‘Aroused By Rucksacks’.

There are bantams from the Jurassic Period and others from the Blackburn District, and the most extraordinary creatures the size of dustbins, thirty or so in total, many of them on heat and anxious to get to know you better, sooner rather than later, time is of the essence, come on, Christmas is coming.

“These two are changing colour, look. That means they’ll be having sex soon. Would you like to stay and watch?”
I explained that we’d not long had our lunch but thanks for the offer all the same, and we continued on our walk back to Ribblehead.

You can’t bloody get away from it, can you?

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