Hey, falcons — any of you out there, looking for a snack? Don’t settle for the first skinny starling or frail flicker to happen by. Come and get this MASSIVE PIGEON, which is not only enormous (and delicious; come on — even I want to eat it!), but a bit of a bully. It likes to puff up that great shiny throat of its, and chase other birds from the feeder, while making obnoxious cooing noises. It even chases the other pigeons, which is hardly fair play. You falcons are more than welcome to this pigeon, especially if you eat it right there on the railing, then sit and preen a while, so I can take pictures.
Maybe I’ll eat it, myself. It’s been a while, since I’ve had a nice pigeon pie. Pigeons are expensive, here, probably because most people don’t know they’re edible, so grocery shops have to import them for those few diners aware of the lowbrow comforts of four-and-twenty winged rats, baked in a pie.
(I am, of course, joking about eating the pigeon. Noshing on wild birds doesn’t seem like a particularly safe or humane proposition. And if I’m going to have a pie, I’d prefer quail or pheasant. Or turkey. But a turkey’s awfully big. I couldn’t eat a whole turkey, by myself. How did this entry become about poultry pies?)
I didn’t get outside, today; I’m still rather sneezy, and there are flowers everywhere, pollen drifting on the breeze like, eh…a very itchy, drifting thing —
— wait, a very itchy, drifting thing? What’s that, a tramp who hasn’t had a change of underpants, in a while? This sentence took a wrong turn, somewhere; where was I? Oh, right —
— I didn’t get outside today, because of pollen, but I swear I will, tomorrow. I’ll pop out while my pie’s in the oven. :-)