Returned from the Kirk this morning-no sorry from the church as it was Huttonian's turn for the Piscies in Duns rather than the parish church in Hutton which operates every other Sunday-to receive a nasty shock. Not only had the birds eaten a huge fat ball-three days ration in two hours but poor old Cocky was laid out stiff, cold and immobile at the end of the patio. Oh Dear-end of an era but a good innings. Who had got him? Rosie the decrepit cat? Surely not. Killer cat from next door? Possible but there did not seem any sign of moggie inflicted damage. The Sparrow Hawk? Could be but I would doubt if even a sparrow hawk who feasts mostly on wee song birds would tackle a large if elderly pheasant. Any how I went out musing on life, death and the English Cricket team to give Mr C a decent burial when he rose up from his incumbent position and strode off down the lawn in a marked manner indignant about his snooze being disturbed-especialy on a Sunday. Hence immobile but why cold? Silly question this is the frozen North. OK ,but stiff? Too much humpty dumpty last night I suspect -no wonder Ollie just glimpsed away from her chicks earler this morning looked so exhausted. Slow down Mr C is my advice or we will find you late and deceased one fine morning all ready for a Monty Python pheasant joke.
