Bird Stuck Up A Tree

Bird Stuck Up A Tree

I know this sounds like it’ll be a blog about a life crisis told in metaphors, but that’s because you’re too clever for your own good!

This weekend myself and Lill Boo had to place the dubious emergency call that there was a pigeon stuck up a tree!

It seemed the little flying bugger had got something tangled around it’s leg, and I first saw it flapping around as it hung upside down, slowly swinging like the moody and feathered internals of a Grandfather Clock.

I’m sure it’d take a good few days for it to die and bats to eat its eyeballs or whatever, and finding the RSPB was closed at weekends, a call was placed to the RSPCA.  Surprisingly, they sent someone out for the ‘Bird stuck up a tree’ call!

Normally I’d tell you some grand tale of adventure and bravery here, as we battled to free the be-winged creature, only to end up with shots fired, injuries, and diving catches.

Unfortunately, Lill Boo was watching out the window, so after watching us struggle into position after formulating a plan to bring the branch down – she saw that as I got into position to catch the pigeon *has the name ‘Penelope Pitstop’ spring into his head*, and the RSPCA Officer stood on his vans roof with a big long pokey thing, the pigeon flew off as if nothing had happened.


The true irony is that Lill Boo -ing hates pigeons anyway!  Next time we’re just closing the curtains a bit so we can’t see it and ignoring it.

Speaking of birds and stuff, I never told you about the Man Test I had to undergo a couple of months ago!

I was down the garage workshop chatting cars and bikes when we noticed a big bloody chicken leg it inside, closely followed by Overall Man in that hands-out running crouch that people running after chickens apparently have to adopt.

Being three men together, of course we all joined in the chase, trying to head the chicken off and box it in – as you do.

After a good few minutes of trying, and several successful escapes by the Ninja Chicken, I suddenly found myself face to face with it’s evil eyes, and to my horror realised that I was the one who was going to have to make the grab!

Now, despite being a man who’s experienced a lot of very weird and wonderful things in my lifetime, having to actually pick up a chicken is not one of the ones I’ve ever done.

I know many have a phobia of chickens.  Maybe it’s because they’ve been known to peck peoples eyeballs out for trying to pick them up the wrong way?  This and many similar thoughts ran through my head, as did the thought that this was a very definite Man Test, witnessed by two other alpha males.

I couldn’t let them down, and I definitely couldn’t let the chicken escape. Or accidentally kill it.

All of Abe’s chickeny blogs ran through my mind, and I searched them for useful tips that didn’t include shotguns.

In the end I just grabbed the bastard, learning how chickens certainly do have breasts, and their sole purpose seems to be for a leather-clad man to grab from behind…

Err… so yes – I passed the man test and safely handed the bird (still alive) back to Overall Man.

And only a bit of wee came out.

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