Death in the garden.
As some of you probably know I am fond of the motley crew of birds that populate my garden. In particular I was fond of Napoleon, the fierce and plucky little robin who would sing his heart out on the black berry bush outside my window, or bounce around the lawn hauling worms free from the soil. Indeed he was so plucky he often followed me about the garden if I was mowing the lawns or planting. He'd perch near me, swaying gently on the clothes line, watching to see if I might uncover a delicious morsel or two. He had a sweet tooth and liked battenburg cake. He was relentless in the protection of his territory, often attacking and chasing off the unruly magpies, even though he was so tiny by comparison.
His favourite perch was on the back of a wrought iron garden chair, and from there he surveyed his kingdom. Small red, fierce, charming. A proper litte gouger, but entertaining.
Yesterday I was dismayed to find his still warm little body at the foot of my stairs, a few feathers scattered about, the bigger of the cats lying near by. My garden is silent this morning, not even the magpies are nat-nat nattering. The Godpigeon and his lady are nowhere to be seen and mr and mrs blackbird are away, off visiting the kids no doubt.
It seems fitting.
Napoleon is no more.
I'm not angry with the Bigger of the Cats, he's a cat, doing what cats do, the bugger. Plus it was raining yesterday, and knowing Napoleon's fondness for all things wormy, he was probably out on the lawn and concentrating on excavating them from the wet soil. A momentary lapse in concentration I'm sure, but a costly one.
He wasn't my bird, but I liked him and I will miss the cheeky little chap and his trill. Maybe one of his recently fledged sons might take over the upkeep of the place. Certainly someone needs to put manners on the black and whites.
So long Napoleon, you were bold and true and my garden is all the sadder for your passing.
Labels: a noble bird.