Happily Ever After

Life in The Rural Retreat with a beautiful wife, three cats, garden wildlife, a camera, a computer – and increasing amounts about running

Earlier posts can be found on Adventures of a Lone Bass Player, where this blog began life. Recent entries can be found here.

Snatched From the Jaws of Death

by admin - 18:03 on 04 December 2010

The end of the big freeze is in sight – snow is melting off the roof of The Rural Retreat and, inside, Matchgirl has cast off her daywear blanket.

Bess has yet to notice the change. The garden is still white so she continues to mooch around the cottage and make reluctant use of her litter tray. Some cats hate cold paws.

Others don't care. Romeo has several times been observed frisking in the snow and eyeing the birds with a hungry look. He's made several inept charges, but only a particularly dozy fowl would be caught by his efforts.

I was putting much-needed air into Mr Ford's tyres when I heard the squawk and turned to see a guilty black-and-white blur with a light brown object in his mouth. On closer investigation this proved to be a female pheasant.

Mr Pheasant has lately taken to hanging out with one of the boys and leaving his harem to take care of itself, so he wasn't there to intervene when Romeo at last got lucky. I stepped into the breach and confronted the marauding moggy who dropped his prey, ran and watched me from a safe distance.

The pheasant stayed where she'd been abandoned, although much panting indicated that life had not left her. Feathers were ruffled but no blood was evident. When I stooped to examine her more closely she flew away at high speed, after a moment pursued by the ever-optimistic Romeo.

Not only am I feeding an unknown number of birds (and martens) but now I'm also their bodyguard. I hope they appreciate it.

Also being spoiled at the moment are Dolphin James's secret squirrels, who receive huge numbers of hazelnuts but provide few photo opportunities in return. Yesterday, when the temperature was still well below freezing, he spent two hours waiting in vain to see any of the creatures that had left tracks in the snow around the feeders he's hidden in one of the Black Isle's woodlands.

That's a real wildlife photographer. You can tell them by the frostbite.

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