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Saga of a woman old enough to know better who lets her life be governed by the ridiculous hobby of breeding and showing dogs, musing on life, the twenty first century, Cameron and his mini-me, and the occasional sheep.
"IN DOG YEARS, I`M DEAD"

Tuesday, October 19, 2004

RESERVOIR ROBIN 

Popping in for a cauliflower and some beans I notice that Tesco is clearing shelves and filling them with Christmas cheer.

It`s October.

It makes me nervous. I feel an impulse to crouch down and sneak round corners........

Two or three years ago, a few short weeks before Christmas, our Tesco acquired its own, real robin. He flew about the store, chirping brightly, a lovely little flash of red, often stoppng to sing cheerfully. His favourite perch was high up on the Christmas crackers - a bird who had really studied his job description. I suppose he kept himself going on the vast variety of festive food on display......and no doubt he made a few contributions to the display as well.

I thought he was delightful, and said so.

"Bloody robin!" snorted the checkout girl. "They won`t let us shoot it, you know. It seems they`re protected or something. But the manager`s on to it."

I was silenced. I had a vision of the delighted temp shelf fillers, late at night, having their sticker clickers taken away and replaced by Kalashnikovs, being allotted names like "Mr Pink" and "Mr Green" , and sent out to get "Mr Red." Sprays of bullets would pulverise the huge stack of Walkers Crisps (Giant Family size) and shred into a drifting snowstorm the display of toilet paper (Tesco Economy). The aisles would be awash with blood and Diet Irn Bru......

But the robin sang on. He was there until the 22nd. Then I found the store silent. I dreaded, but I had to ask.

"We got him," said the checkout girl. "There`s always a way."

I made a hurried exit.

Thank goodness Santa didn`t visit.......


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