When I got in the door tonight Pete was sitting there with Callum drinking tea at the kitchen table and Isabelle said straightaway "A big dog has died"
"Who, Max?" I said, referring to a particular long-lived mongrel. "No a big DOVE". Sure enough there was this huge Wood Pigeon in a shoe box, dead as a proverbial Dodo. The bird had been brought over for convalescence but hadn't reacted well to the change of environment, I don't think it was very well in the first place and so when it got a bit worked up it did itself in.
It'll probably just go in the Wheelie bin without any formal ceremony as it's collection day tomorrow, Tuesday. I doubt if they'll be a burial down in the garden since no one really knew the Wood Pigeon, it was a bit of a non-entity. If it had been more of a survivor like those ex-town centre birds 'Donnie' or 'Whistle' they might have interbred and produced a Pove or a Digeon...
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