Excuse me, sir, there's a goose in my pool...

Er, excuse me, there's a goose in my pool...

I appear to have acquired a goose. Not intentionally mind. It just turned up this morning. I glanced out the window and there it was paddling in the pool. It’s not like I need additions to the menagerie given guinea fowl keet season is upon us.

A mighty fine flap...

I introduced myself to the goose. He said his name was Hubert.

“Hubert?” I asked, “That’s a funny sort of name for a goose. Actually, I took you more for a Humbert. You know, Humbert Humbert, because you’ve got a saucy look about you.”

Hubert glowered at me with a beady eye and rasped, “I fear you have me confused with Duck a la Orange – and we are so not going there. No, no, don’t even say it.”

I didn’t it, but my head was suddenly filled with visions of Goose a la Armagnac – and he is such a nice plump bird…

Moi? Goose a la Armagnac? I think not!

A quick drink, I think, one for the road, you know...

The other recent “acquisition” is a pintailed whydah. The bird in question is a breeding male and a right stroppy little sod.

Attitudinally challenged bird...

When he’s not desporting himself in front of the female and attempting to tickle and tantalize her with his tail feathers (and possible his noodly appendage, though my eyes aren’t that good), he spends the bulk of the day attacking the other male pintailed whydah in the garden. That would be his reflection of course. He’s sworn to a duel until death, though I fear at this rate, all he’ll end up with is a very sore head.

The dance of lurve...

Death to the rival!

I should add, he has also driven practically every other bird from the garden and has no issue at all with dive bombing the doves and guinea fowl. Like a small terrier, he clearly has no concept of his own extremely tiny size.

Ya lookin' at me? Huh? Huh?

Wanna make something of it? Huh? Huh?

As for the squirrels, there has been a War on Suet. I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves. Suffice it to say, we have finally managed to thwart the little buggers, but that has, in turn, completely reduced the entertainment factor. Oh well.

Can I leap, or do I climb? Oh the decisions!

Climb, I think....

Nommy-nom-nom...

Er, now how to disembark...?

Oh shit...

S'perilous place to be hanging...

There will now be a short blogging hiatus as I go off and do important writer-ly things. See you on the flip side.

Old MacVanilla had a farm....

If it wasn't bad enough that I was beset by guinea fowl (32 marauders on the lawn last week - not much lawn of course but there you go - it's winter, it's cold, they're hungry) - but this morning I opened the curtains to find a goose paddling about in the pool! I mean, really! And on leaving the pool Not-Jemima-Not-Puddleduck *, proceeded to hiss at all the other interlopers and give them what for. Now this is not necessarily a bad thing when it comes to the gluttonous flock of doves - who, by sheer dint of numbers manage to swallow every morsel of grain out there - as I said before, nothing like a ravening mob to clear the place.

The squirrels of course are having none of it and things being what they are we've now set up Squirrel Mews - three boxes, covered in bin bags - to keep out the wet and the doves - under the patio table. Thinking the squirrels were now sorted we were somewhat gobsmacked to see a massive stand off going on. Word has got out that grub's about - not only do we get guineas and a goose, doves and squirrels - but a smaller - and decidedly feistier - rodent has turned up. Although he's not particularly welcome, I can't help but laugh at the sight of a very small rat who puffs himself up to look like huge and dangerous furball as he lashes out at two squirrels at a time. If you ever needed reminding that dynamite comes in small packages, this fellow says it all. Now, of course, I just have to find a way of politely asking him to dine elsewhere - because if the doves are anything to go by then it's going to be a job for the Pied Piper... and I shudder at that thought!

Dave, the squirrel...

Tell me, is it just me who is overrun by critters or does anyone else have "guests" that drop in for fine dining? Feed the birds, tuppence a bag, tra-la-laa...

Frankly, I blame it all on that damned chicken...


*I'm reminded of the name of a friend of mine's pet duck - look away now if you think you'll be offended... Lovely man, he named his pet Mrs Puddlefucker... Jemima Puddlefucker... Hmm, methinks the pool may be a bit f**d if the goose continues to ablute in it...