Talking To The Birds

I wandered out into my garden because my head was spinning with problems. And they were the sort of problems that are a problem. 

There was a pigeon sitting on our garden fence. 

I thought: he looks fed up, I’ll have a chat with him. 

“Alright, mate. How’s the family?” 

“Coo.” 

“Aah, it’s ok, pal. Your secret is safe with me. I know pigeons can talk.” 

The pigeon fluttered its wings and moved down the fence a few feet further away. 

“Coo.” 

“Blimey, is that all I’m getting? Just trying to be friendly.” 

Just then, a Magpie landed on the fence next to the pigeon. He waddled over to me and sniffed.

“Have you been talking to Olivero?”

“I have, but he’s not saying much.” 

“He doesn’t speak English, he’s from Spain.” 

“Blimey, that was a long flight.”

“Nah, he got a cheap deal from British Airways.” 

Now that threw me. A bird? Travelling on an aircraft. There are stranger things, I suppose. 

“Are you telling me a bird, an actual bird, took a flight?”

The Magpie stared at me for a moment. Like I’d lost the plot. Or as though I’d never had it. 

“Wait, are you telling me you believe all that ‘migrating birds’ crap?”

He laughed so much he nearly fell off the fence. 

“Jeez!! None of us do that if there is a plane going our way!!”

The Magpie chuckled again, farted and waddled up the fence. 

“Must dash. Got to relieve the Mrs. She’s on the eggs.”

The Magpie took off. 

He left ‘on’ where it was. 

I was dumfounded. Literally speechless. 

The pigeon wasn’t. 

“Coo.”

Then, he flew off. Probably to catch the 14:00 from Birmingham to Madrid.