D.I.Y.day: Tuppence a Bag

So, the weather continues suckacious, and more snow is foretold for tonight. Yays.

But as sorry as I feel for myself (and believe me, my self-pity is at least Great-Dane sized on the dogometer), the birds are in an even worse way. How do I know? Because I'm actually seeing them.

The thing about yippy little dogs is that, well, they yip, and either the local birds find this frightening or aesthetically offensive, and so in spite of my many attempts at making them feel at home, they turn up their beaks and give our garden the go-by.

But now that the snow is everywhere, there are hoards of pathetic-looking blackbirds, crow-esque things (are they ravens? Almost certainly not, but it would be kewl if so), pigeons (the fat American type and the slightly less fat English type), and any other not-very-interesting bird species you can think of are shuffling around out there, grasping tattered shawls over their heads with one wing and holding the other out in supplication.

One starling had a little crutch and newsboy cap. It was trying to sell newspapers to get money for its little sister's medicine.


Aw, come on, I said to myself, these are the least interesting birds you've ever seen. They're not even pretty colours. They can fend for themselves.


But this morning I went out to do poop-scoop patrol and a little ragged robin sidled up to me.


'Spaysuhshainplaze?' it said.


'What?' I asked. 'I didn't quite catch that.'


'Spaysuhshainplaze,' it twittered again.


'Could you try that one more time, a bit slower?'


'Spay. Suh. Shain. Plaze,' it bellowed.


'O-oh, spare some change please,' I echoed as the light dawned. 'No, I'm not giving you change. You'll only spend it on meth.'


'Nao I waon't,' said the robin. 'Oi'll buy tay.'


'You'll buy a tray?'


'Nao, what are you simple or somefing? Oi will buy ay cup of tay.'


I put my hands on my hips. I grew up in New Haven, so I like to think I know how to deal with pan-handlers.


'Look,' I said, 'if you want a cup of tea, I can run inside and make you one right now. You don't need any change.'


'Nao,' it said, 'just spaysuhshainplaze, cuz Oi tell a lie. Oi raly wanted to use the monay to buy food for my baybays.'


'Ahem,' I answered, 'I'm not dumb. I've seen that David Attenborough thing. You won't have any babies until springtime. In fact, sir, I put it to you are that you are a dishonest robin.'


'Nao, nao, nao,' it replied. 'Oi 'uz just troyin' to play on yer sympafies. Troof is, I just want to get enough monay togevver to get over tuh Spain fer the rest of the winter. Cuz Oi've got a medical condition what makes the caold bad fer me.'


'I'm very sorry, but I just don't believe you.'


'Look, just spaysuhshainplaze an' I want bovver you again. On me muvver's loif.'


By now I was getting fed up.


'No way. It's robins like you that are creating a drain on our society. Get a little, bird-sized job.'


'Gimme 50P,' it said relentlessly.


'No.'


'30, then.'


'No!'


It puffed up its feathers.


'I tell you what,' it said, 'how's about you, right, go and get some feeders and that, make good, everyone's happy.'


This seemed reasonable.


So off I went to B&Q (=British Home Depot) through the slush, over the un-sanded, un-gritted, unshovelled sheets of ice that are our pavements and shelled out for sunflower seeds, 'fat balls' (no, seriously, that's what they're called), and flaxseed mix.


I get back, hang it all up around the yard, feel like a good samaritan.


Two hours later, I go outside to see how it's getting on and that damn robin has set up a kiosk and was selling MY seeds to the other birds. He had a big rook working protection to ensure nobody took any food without paying for it.


Oh well, I thought, at least he's staying out of trouble. He's trying to make something of himself. He's self-employed.


But then, after dinner when I went to let the dogs out, I found that baggy on the birdfeeder by the window.


DAMN YOU, METH-HEAD ROBIN!!!!!!