If it’s not one thing, it’s another.
Mike was up in the garage last week, trying to find more plastic sheeting for the spray painting of the bookcase.
Bicycles, garden furniture and assorted other stored stuff were getting shifted around in the search. And then, in the midst of the confusion, a male pheasant walked into the garage as casually as you like.
It watched proceedings intently for almost half an hour, side stepping occasionally as a new piece of domestic detritus came its way.
When Mike walked back to the house the pheasant followed him, all the way down the steps. It then stopped at the bottom. As if guarding the way back up.
I don’t think its Ptolemy. His ‘patch’ seems to go towards the south, from the house down to the river. This pheasant seemed unwilling to go that way.
It might be the bird I’d found sitting on top of the electric gate. The one that had acquired a surprised expression when I’d pushed the button inside the car and the gate had started to swing…
For a couple of days it was pleasant enough. The pheasant seemed quite tame and enjoying our company on the journey up and down the hill.
But over the weekend things took a turn for the worse.
Our bird decided that, rather than quietly follow Mike down the steps, it wanted to be in front. It overtook and stood before him, blocking the way.
And then just hurled itself at Mike, talons outstretched, and sunk its beak into his jeans.
We wondered if it could be Mike’s red jacket that set it off. But yesterday the pheasant attacked me too. And I was wearing my Barbour.
I’ve tried to outsmart it, going up to the garage via the drive, but the pheasant has that route covered too. We are cornered.
That group of branches, stuck in the ground next to the steps?
Defensive weaponry, standing ready for the next action packed ascent.
- Come Out, I’m Ready
- And So It Begins..