On Saturday, at Belconnen golf course, we saw a Common Blackbird carrying
dry grass. We assume it was nesting material unless the bird was preparing some
kind of cellulose salad to go with its earthworm bolongnaise.
This morning, Maggie, a neighbour, arrived with a dead bird for
identification. "Another road kill, eh, Maggie?" I said, putting the
fledgling blackbird in the compost bin.
"No! No!" she shrilled, "Mongoose brought it into the house just now."
Mongoose, her cat, is a darned nuisance. Besides taking the odd bird, he beats
up our innocuous little tom and steals his Whiskettes. That is, he used
to, until les demoiselles administered him a couple of sudden cold enemas from
the high-pressure nozzle on the garden hose. Accordingly, Rikki-tikki-tavi no
longer prowls our precincts.
Maggie collided with a Crested Pigeon last week and appeared on our
doorstep clutching the dead thing. "What can I do with it?" she quailed (or
pigeoned), "I hate killing live things." So I headed her to the compost bin. We
hope Maggie never skittles a skippy – our compost bin can only hold so
much.
John Layton.
