Peacock Rescue
Ian R. Thorpe
2009-06-13
I don’t watch Springwatch any more. Bill Oddie has moved on so there is little chance of seeing a bearded tit and no matter who presents the show it will never top the classic moment a couple of years ago when a heartbreakingly cute fluffy little baby owl burst out of the eggshell and was straightaway jumped on and swallowed whole by an elder sibling.
How cool was that?
Television cannot get any better so I abandoned the world of breeding birds.
Birds with the urge to breed have not abandoned me however, this morning the Boggart Blog garden was invaded by a Peacock.
“It must be hurt so it can’t fly,” said Mother Boggart who then phoned the RSPB.
“I’ve got an injured Peacock in my garden, it can’t fly,” she told the RSPB man.
“What’s it doing now?” he asked.
“Sitting on the fence looking at me in a nasty way with its beady little eyes,” said Mother Boggart.
“So there’s a fence round your garden?”
“Oh yes, quite a high one.”
“Then how did the Peacock get in if it can’t fly?” said the man from the Royal Society.
Mother Boggart had not thought that one through but she wasn’t being fobbed off. “I don’t know, maybe it stole a ladder. Anyway aren’t you going to rescue it. That’s what you do isn’t it?”
“Not really, we protect birds. We only rescue them if they are an endangered species or they are injured.”
“Well this one is endangered, or it will be just as soon as next door’s tom cat sees it.”
The RSPB still weren’t interested. Mother Boggart was a tad nonplussed, she had hoped a Steve Irwin lookalike would leap over the fence, take one look at the Peacock and shout “Crikey, he’s a big one. And he’s angry and confused. Quick throw a tarp on him.”
Just then Brother Bastion walked into the kitchen on the off change of there being a bacon sandwich going. Moving to the sink to fill the kettle he looked out of the window.
“Mum, why is there a Peacock perching on the clothes dryer trying to have sex with your peg bag?
“Aha!” said the man from the RSPB who had been delivering a lecture on caring for stray Peacocks, “Aha! he’s trying to shag your peg bag,” One thing we could have done without was a budding poet.
“making a pretty good job of it too,” said Brother Bastion as he laid bacon on the George Foreman Grilling Machine.
“Well he’s looking for a mate, he’s lovesick,” the RSPB man explained to Mother Boggart. “It’s their mating season. Did you know a Peahen can lay up to forty eggs.”
“What am I supposed to do with forty Peahen eggs,” said Mother Boggart.
“Make Spanish Omelettes,” said Brother Bastion helpfully.
Well if you don’t want to adopt a family of Peacocks we’re not interested in helping you, don’t fed the bird and don’t procure ladyfriends for it,” the RSPB man said before slamming down the phone.
“They’re not a protected species so the RSPB aren’t interested,” Mother Boggart told Brother Bastion.
“Not a protected species? It’s Christmas,” the good brother said, “Did you know roast peacock was a great favourite of King Henry VIII. I’ll go outside and throw a tarp on him.”
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