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Pigeon Post

We should all be living a plant-based diet. I’ve heard this for a while now from my vegan daughter who regularly chastises us for not caring enough about the planet to give up roast chicken or cheese.

That said our roast chicken days are few and far between. We took the idea of Meat-free Monday and ran with it, quite a long way. These days our diet is Meat-free Monday to Friday. Also pretty much Saturday and Sunday too.

I’ve tried growing vegetables myself and its never been a success. I’ve been thwarted by climate, soil, lack of skill or knowledge but mostly by wood pigeons.

There are several wood pigeons in my garden. They remain there because, essentially, they are too fat to fly anywhere. Once in a while, for the sake of conjugal rites, two or more of them will flap up to the top of the fence to do their mating dance, the odd little minuet of bows and cooing. As their feet foxtrot around, the fence bends and creaks under the weight of them. They are fat with my peas, my sunflowers, my courgettes, pumpkins and a meadows worth of wildflower seeds. There is no end to their ingenuity in retrieving seed from bed, box or pot. Even the squirrels stand back, applauding with admiration.

It’s only a matter of time, I know, when that last broad bean pod is popped and my husband and I have to share a dinner only of herbs. If there are any herbs left of course. Then, there will be an almighty rebellion and the hunter gatherer in us will be ignited. Some stealth and the cover of hydrangeas will be required before a lone feather drifts on the wind and, shortly thereafter, the smell of pastry and gravy begins to waft down the garden.

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