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.

Friday, June 18, 2010


I was sitting out with the dogs in the sun, marvelling at the number of buzzards there are.

A few years ago, seeing a buzzard was an event. I remember having a plasterer working here, and we both ran out when we heard the unmistakeable mewing call.

"A buzzard!" I said.

"No, a pair." he corrected.

We watched in silence. After a few moments he commented thoughtfully, "I expect the massacred wagon train is just ahint they plum trees......"

Well, now they are everywhere. The sky is darkened with them. I`m amazed they don`t count as a hazard on the glide path to the local airport.

And as I mused on the buzzards overhead, suddenly something went "Splat!" just beside me.

A rat. A very flat, dead rat. If it hadn`t started out dead.....well, as they say, the fall never kills you, but the landing is usually very dodgy.

Shelby, who narrowly escaped being hit by this offering, jumped with his eyes bulging. Food from heaven! The Paps converged on it meaningfully. Fastidious Ella looked disgusted. I got there just in time, and consigned the buzzard`s leavings to the bin, looking up nervously in case it was just part of a serious food consignment from on high.

Yet again my pack were disgusted with their leader. Admittedly it was a bit small to share out, but I could at least have let them fight over it.

I scowled up at the benevolent buzzard.

Totally thankless, that`s me.
Seems rather ominous, Buzzards multiplying and being everywhere. They only eat dead things, yea? Or maybe they've learned from Seagulls and are raiding trash dumpster.

I swear, here in the states you see more seagulls inland than you do at the beach, sometimes. They're worse than crows.
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