He's at it again. Doing that strange inverted cough sound. The cock pheasant that lives in the hedge.
Only now he sounds closer.
I pull open the patio door, step out onto the decking and ...laugh.
Willow is nonchalantly relaxing on the deck, he turns his fat tabby head in my direction and then looks across the grass as if telling me to follow his gaze. Which I do and I see him, through the gaps in the railings; a beautifully bright cock pheasant staring back at me.
He crows as he struts about, his yellow ringed eye looks haughtily at the cat as if to say -
"Cats are of no consequence to me"
He walks across the lawn before slipping into the hedge and disappearing.
Five minutes later I hear him crow from the far side of the field.
I fear that his strutting days are shortlived. I live with his nemesis; my husband, the lunatic hunter.
You should have hitched a lift with the swallows my friend, I think.
Lie low on the first, you beauty, stay quiet and keep that glorious head down.
I've grown accustomed to his calls and he really is quite a pleasant pheasant.
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