Strike Action!

My last blog was a little dreary, to say the least. This blog, I hope, will be a little brighter and you may even find it funny with a little stretch of the imagination!

The morning of this particular day started much the same as any other. Tea in bed made by whoever is on the rota and hears the 7am alarm. Today it was me.

We live at the back of idyllic woodlands so we hear all sorts of sounds during the night and early morning. It’s lovely to hear the blackbird singing his little heart out with melodies from several other birds joining in the musical genre. The only interlopers are the magpies. They don’t sing, they just squawk! It is not a pleasant sound at all, plus they are allegedly an unlucky bird to have around. I always salute them and say, ‘Good morning, Captain. How is your wife?’ I’m just in mind of the protection, according to the old wife’s tale, by saying that to ward off any bad luck.

Anyway, on this beautiful sunny morning, instead of the blackbird’s sweet tune, all we could hear was the magpies. My husband remarked on the awful noise they were making so I looked out of the bedroom window and reported to him that there were three of them sitting in a tree near our window. Now, as I have said in past blogs, I believe animals of all kinds (and that includes birds) talk to one another. This gave me the idea to translate to my husband exactly what they were saying. I randomly gave them names: Reg, Des and Boris (just a coincidence!)

Reg was the ring leader. He was moaning to Boris and Des about the lack of food available for their size of bird. The small birds were catered for with their dainty little seed hangers and peanut holders, but what about them?

He called what could only be described as a magpie union meeting. The conversation went something like this: “Well brothers, this calls for strike action! We want food placed in a manner in which we can safely and successfully feed.”

Boris asked how were they going to achieve this and Des seconded the question.

Reg had an idea. He shared it with his mates. What they would do, on the count of three, was fly over our roof top and leave a message on the dark grey Mercedes parked in the drive. Of course, my husband wanted to know why they would choose his car. I simply told him it’s not my problem – I can only repeat what I have heard.

So, you can imagine my amazement when, on leaving the house to go shopping in the Mercedes, I discovered my husband with a cleaning cloth in his hand wiping his windscreen, driver’s door and desperately stretching to reach the centre of the roof. My translation of the magpie chatter had been 100% on target – so to speak.

Well Reg did say it called for STRIKE action!!

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