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This morning there were two White-winged Trillers fluttering about the
cul-de-sac trees and a Grey Fantail flitting in and out the carport until
Furball, the neighbour's cat, intervened. Younger Brat flung a well-aimed
basket ball at Furball which terminated his intervention and probably bruised
his posterior (Mrs Neighbour was absent at Sunday worship), and the fantail
continued its forays for a few more minutes. Come late morning, we saw a Pallid
Cuckoo calling from a tree at the Holt shops. Can't recall seeing one in a
suburban street before.
This afternoon, a pair of Striated Pardalotes called stridently for an hour
as they traded between the roof of the house and a newly-foliaged almond tree.
Two Crested Pigeons landed in the bare-branched White Cedar tree. They faced one
another cooing, bowing and tail-fanning. Suddenly, one bird flew at its opponent
and kicked him once, twice, thrice in the chest. Ouch! The impacts were
palpable. The dominant rooster appeared to be the Bruce Lee of Crested
Pigeons.
The bashed bird left and the victor was soon joined by a female (we
suppose) and much lovey-dovey, bill-and-neck rubbing ensued before the pigeon
pair tired of our voyeurism and repaired to a more secluded tryst.
At 8PM yesterday, as we cycled past the Holt Oval, we heard chirping
noises, took the headlamps from the bikes and spotlighted a group of about 100
Silver Gulls sitting out on the oval. We accidentally spotlighted a trio of
young lady joggers changing their gear in the dark of the cricket nets. We
called, "Sorry!" but they responded quite rudely. Oops! and Tsk! Tsk!
As we remounted our bikes, my delinquent brat-daughters gave the semi-clad,
nubile joggers another quick burst of illumination as I pedaled like heck down
the street with the giggling brats close behind me. One of these days, these
little she-devils of mine will get a man arrested.
However, the evening's highlights hadn't ended. We pulled into the driveway
and saw an Australian Hobby perched on a street lamp. We've seen one there
on a few occasions during past springtimes. We went out to look for it again
after supper, but no luck. Then, we heard Mrs Neighbour calling, "Puss, Puss,
Puss?" And the Brats started calling, "Meow, meow, meow!"
So I bundled them indoors. I don't know why they
can't exercise more respect and responsibility as I did when I was
their age.
John Layton
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