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.

Swing Low, Sweet Suet - or - Raiders of the Lost Suet

I was thinking, given I feed so many of the seed and peanut-eaters in my garden, that it was time to look out for the birds that preferred a meatier diet. So I duly trotted off and bought a suet ball and a suet ball holder. For a while it seemed no one noticed my offerings, until one day I realised just about the entire ball had disappeared...

What voracious bird, I wondered, had got so successfully at the suet, that in three or four days most of the stuff was gone? I really should have known, shouldn't I?
And this is how it was done:

The mysterious suet thief... "Who do you think you're looking at, go away, I'm busy!"

Now, I edge along the branch...

Then I swing down...

I lunge to my left...

And grab hold of the basket...

Right, now, this is the tricky bit...

Up and over...

Get my mush stuck firmly stuck into this lovely stuff...and grab a piece

Back up again, there we go....

Ah heaven...

Though it's equally good when eaten hanging upside down.

Well, if nothing else, and even if the robin and boubous went without, it was worth it just to get these shots!

And in other news... I was supposed to be off to the UK this week, to attend a much looked forward to children's writers' conference in Winchester with all my SCBWI-BI pals. Unfortunately ongoing health problems have put paid to that. And am I miffed? You bet! Oh well, there's always next year and now I have no excuse to finish off the final tweaks and tucks to my manuscript.