The shoo shoo interrupt
A Magpie flies into my cabin.
I’m writing ‘cool, increasing to warm’ words at my desk.
I turn like an Abba video
He perches on the bed head
obliging with the other role in our Abba video
before turning to
look me square in the eyes.
Grandma mode engage
“Shoooo, shoooo, shooo, shoooooooo”
as I rise from my chair and forward flap my hand wings at him…
What doofus came up with that response to asking a bird to leave?
I’m not insinuating the people whom raised me are doofi, but I’ve picked this up somewhere.
This time was different…
Thank fuck.
I didn’t doof that.
And without thinking, got up and cruised past him to the door.
Just havin’ a yarn.
“Hey mate, what’s doin’ this morning?”
I half expected him to fly up to the roof, ripping ‘round in circles,
I’d then drop to my shins in a semi-atheist prayer
‘Please don’t whip ‘round and pilot your way to freedom, you will only find yourself arse over head against the window, fine sir.’
But in mellow I said,
“C’mon fella.”
Then opened the door wider from which he came,
for him to leave cordially (we’ll get back to that word another time)
He hops ‘round, scanning the remainder of the room for food.
Before pausing and looking through me again.
He launches,
flying straight for my face.
Darts right and out the door
just. before. impact.
And I didn’t flinch.
So I assume my breakfast brain cocktail ( a spicy mellow yellow Bloody Benny) was:
- 2 parts Waking to the birds this morning
- 1 part Stones throw from an oasis of trees one side
- 1 part A garden of fresh fruits and veg the other 10mls
- 2 dashs of the brilliance that is Bloody Sunday
- A pinch of words from the soul 5mls.
- Some cubed ice made, which I haven’t got, yet we don’t have a freezer, but don’t worry I’ll find some later.
- To garnish: Nil bites from of a family of spiders, crawling all over the author of the book I’m reading (my last thought before sleeping last night)- 15mls
And hey!
I’m not saying we need to deconstruct every new behaviour we notice within ourselves.
I had a similar reaction to a fuge* spider on the back of a mulch bag this week. And I’m sure this is in preparation for meeting a king brown at some point on this adventure.
But if we do,
we may as well grab the opportunity by the fun bags and use a personalised alcoholic breakfast metaphor.
*’fucken huge’ for non-aussie bogans.
