Odd Birds and Car Encounters.

The most momentous event of today was being waved at by the Lady B as she passed me on the lane in her car. At least I assumed it was the Lady B. I find it an odd fact about Land Rovers that I can never identify the people in them when they pass me. I presume it must have something to do with the angle of the windscreen and the way it reflects skylight. But the car had the Lady’s registration number, and whoever or whatever was behind the wheel lifted what appeared to be an arm and waved it back and forth three times (I think.) And doesn’t it say much about me and my life that such an event should be a matter of such moment? (I offer its rarity value by way of defence.)

And while I was out perambulating, I came across the oddest dead bird on the road where said Lady used to live. In size it was midway between a blackbird and a jackdaw. Its body was uniformly black, but the legs were a curious day-glo yellow/green colour, and its beak was brick red with a yellow tip. I’ve searched my bird book and I can’t find it, which leads me to wonder whether it was a foreign visitor. It made me sad to think of some poor bird flying all this way from a foreign land, only to end up dead – courtesy of a vehicle I assume – on some innocuous little lane in the middle of England. Pathos was ever my strong suit.

On a lighter note, the new young lady blackbird continues to hang around my close environment. Today she sat on the bird table for quite some time, not feeding but seeming to be admiring the view. It appears to have become her home-from-home perching place. I talk to her often, you know, giving her advice on how to feed herself, telling her how lovely she is, that sort of thing. She hasn’t flown onto my shoulder to say hello yet, but maybe one day.

And then there were the two wood pigeons singing a duet in a couple of trees near the bottom of my garden. The wood pigeon’s call is always a five note sequence, but the rhythm and pitch of the notes varies. When there are two birds close together, one will call and the other will follow with a call of its own. These two weren’t doing that. They were both singing the same sequence with the same rhythm and pitch at the same time. I’ve never heard that before. If only I could tell them apart from the other wood pigeons (all wood pigeons look the same, you understand) I could name them Sonny and Cher and get them signed up with some record company on a promise of royalties. But I can’t, so there wouldn’t be any point.

And now the other sad encounter, and it’s back to cars. I went up to the village hall car park this evening – and what a delightfully balmy evening it was – armed with raw carrot and looking for Millie the Horse. When I came around to the back of the hall there was a single car parked there, and in the driver’s seat was a woman leaning forward with her head in her hands. My suspicion was aroused, naturally, but I carried on to the fence so as not to disturb her. And then I heard the engine start and turned to see the car drive away. The woman turned briefly to look in my direction and it was obvious that she’d been crying. I felt awful. I assumed she’d wanted a quiet place, free from prying eyes, in which to conduct her dark reverie, and then I’d gate-crashed her misery and forced her to move on. I wondered whether she might have liked to talk. I would have happily given her all the time she needed if such had been the case, but in the event I’d simply been a pollutant. I didn’t like that very much.