EVICTION OF SYLVESTER THE COMMON WOOD PIGEON

Children's Book  Pigeon is evicted

EVICTION OF SYLVESTER

THE COMMON WOOD PIGEON

 

EXCLUSIVE!!!

 

Hello there, me little turtle doves. You will not know me. I’ll introduce myself. I’m Sylvester, the Common Wood Pigeon what lives in the conifers at the front of the Robinson house. Well I says lives in the conifers, we don’t any more. They’ve gone!!!

 

Yes, over night they went. Ok, Mary. I’ll correct that, over one day – that’s Mary the wife, very precise and pedantic.

 

Anyways, what ever, we now have no home. That’s right out on the streets. I’ll probably end up having to sell the Big Issue to make ends meet. There was no warning. They didn’t consult us and ask us if we minded. We can't even perch on the wall because there are railings with spikes that stick up your bum.

 

This coincides with RSPB’s Big Garden Birdwatch too, from 28-30 January. I think it is important we stay out of the Robinson’s garden this weekend to ensure the RSPB know what’s happening to us poor Common Wood Pigeon. We’ll go away somewhere like Newstead Abbey. Then, I hope the RSPB take on their full responsibilities and fully investigate why numbers of Common Wood Pigeon are down in Hucknall.

 

You will be wondering how come I am writing on the www.jeanniejeanniejeannie.co.uk Blog. It is easy you see, like we can fly, dronelike, into your garden without permission, we can also use the internet in the same way.

 

But back to my protest.

 

My family have lived in those conifers for at least 10 generations. The reason we chose that tree is because Wikipedia says about the Common Wood Pigeon “for nesting there is a preference for trees near roadways and rivers”. You have to follow what Wikipedia says and we couldn’t find a site near a river so we chose one by a road.

 

I estimate 200 or more eggs have been hatched in those trees in over 50 years. Not all the young have survived. The neighbour’s cat is amazing when it comes to climbing conifers and he does it without a safety harness. Like a rat up a drainpipe. I’ve got to hand it to him he’s good. And he enjoys a gourmet meal from time to time. Having so many chicks you know you have to loose some. That’s life. So I think to give a cat so much pleasure makes it all worthwhile.

 

But those conifers were perfect for a pair of nesting Common Wood Pigeon. There is everything a modern state of the art Common Wood Pigeon could want. A television aerial to perch on to survey the world, a lamp post to sit on and play ‘poop the human’ (you aim a poo and see if you can hit a passing human on the head. Closest wins), and lots of nice clean shiny house windows to poop down. The cleaner and shinier the better it slips down it easier.

Another game we are able to play is “Try flying through the window”. This is a male sport, only for the tough and brave. Mary won’t do it. You have to be a bit crazy, like what I am, out for an adrenaline rush.  With the windows of the house you can see right through from the back to front garden. I am so sure you can fly through the house windows from back to front. But I ain’t managed it yet. I fly at it and it feel as though I hit a brick wall. It’s painful and I fall to the floor winded. It leaves this amazing print of my body on the glass. A major, classic piece of art that makes me so proud.

 

On next door’s back garden there is a flat roofed shed. Me and the wife ain’t half had some fun on that shed. I would say 99% of the wife’s eggs have been fertilised on that shed. Mary will say to me: “I saw that ‘come to the shed roof’ glint in your eyes.”

 

To be honest I try to vary things and we have tried using the garden fence but it’s difficult to balance and we fall off. Nothing more off putting. And none of us are getting any younger.

 

Then there is the food the Robinsons put out. Food to die for, and we almost do if the neighbour’s black cat sees us. They put yummy meal worms out for the robins. But the robins are so up them selves they aren’t interested so we eat the worms. Then there is this hanging container for the seed food for the tits. Cor! Me and the wife have a laugh trying to get that, but credit to us, we manage it.

 

There used to be a bird table but we soon wrecked that. Well there was a roof on it stopping us getting the food. So we kept landing on it and wrecked it, easy with my weight. I am heavy, to say I eat a lot is an understatement, but you need some pleasures in life. Can a bird be classed as obese?  But it does mean I have to be careful landing on trees or hedgerows. They don’t take my weight any more.

 

Finally there is the field at the back of the house. I love winding the horses up. I imitate the cockerel and geese and there is so much good food knocking around.

 

So what now? I think we’ll have to move into the back tree. Not ideal, no leaves like the conifer which has greenery all year. And we have to watch where we stand. Find branches to take our weight. But it is the perfect place to get my own back.

 

In the blackness of the night as we roost in the tree, we will wait until they come out into the garden then we’ll both flap our wings violently against the branches and fly off. We’ll sound like a ghost or owl. It will so spook them out. They’ll scream: “I wish we’d never taken those conifers out. They must have been haunted and the unhappy, homeless ghost has found shelter in the tree

When I was a lad at school around 13 years old, our Maths teacher used to call me Wol. At the end of the year as we were moving up a class I plucked up courage to ask why he called me Wol. He told meit was thename of the deslexic owl in Winnie the Pooh. With my Harry Potter glasses he said I looked like the Wise Old Owl in the Winnie the Pooh stories.

 

Being the vain person I am I took it as a compliment

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