17th November. Pigeon Round-Up

Isabelle informed me that I had drawn the short straw with regard to pigeon duty tonight. The round up takes place after any flying day as the pair like to roost in the hen house. However the coming daylight would leave them vulnerable to predation by the likes of Tigger or Jiminy. Night vision of the pigeon is mildly more limited than a Human but their capture still provides a degree of challenge, I find.

I drag myself from Alien 3 to face the onerous task (not that I was really watching it). I find myself staring up with a torch at a mixture of various sizes of hens bottoms. 'Whistle' the smaller pigeon, sitting above the door, coos with an annoyed tone but is trapped first time with a tea towel over the head and returned safely. 'Donnie' the larger and more wily senses the impending capture, orange eyes glinting at the far wall on top of an old wardrobe. The torch is balanced on top of a bag of open cement which is balanced on top of a non-working clothes dryer (another task that's waiting). Too much light and the game will go on for long enough, patience will be lost; too little and although he can't see me, I can't see him either.

The pigeon shifts position, I miss, he's flapping about and thinking about taking off but then thinks better of it due to the lighting levels. I've half grabbed him now, one wing is out and flapping, I knock the torch over, the bulb goes out. I slide about on layers of chicken poo stumbling into the clothes dryer before making it to the outside. Donnie is not happy and makes a strenuous effort with the one free wing to resist being put back in his own house. There! Godammit! Game Over!