The Emissary
Posted: Tue Apr 26, 2011 5:35 pm
The Emissary
True Story
In 1999 my Father-in-Law, Bert, died from a stroke. As a result, my Mother-in-Law, Hilda came to live with us. We built a new room onto the house: Hilda’s room. Hilda's room had a northerly aspect and overlooked the swimming pool. I jokingly used to tell Hilda she had the best room in the house; it faced north and had a water view. When Hilda moved in so did ‘Tiny’ her budgerigar; it was my job every Saturday morning to clean out Tiny’s cage. Well, unfortunately Hilda passed away last August and Tiny became our foster bird.
One Saturday, not long after Hida died a strange thing happened. I picked up Tiny’s cage from under the patio and with Tiny on board, whisked the cage out into the laundry and left the cage on the top of the washing machine whilst I ate breakfast. I was half way through my muesli and reading the race form when I heard loud squarking at the front. The noise sounded very much like a bird in distress. I put down the paper, walked up the hall, and opened the door.
I looked down and there a few feet away was a magpie in all his/her finery: a smart feathered dinner jacket and shirt.
I said. ‘Why all the fuss?’
The bird didn’t move; instead it turned Its head to the left, and leaning slightly, one small brown eye peered down the hall.
I had some mincemeat in the fridge I said. ‘You hungry mate I’ll get something to eat.’
The bird didn’t move it was as if I wasn’t there.
I closed the door and went back into the kitchen got a small amount of mincemeat from the fridge and rolled two small meat balls.
I had just moved out of the kitchen with the food in my hand; for some unknown reason I poked my head into the laundry. I received a terrible shock: Tiny, little eyes closed lay dead on the bottom of the cage.
I walked swiftly back to the front door and opened the door.
The magpie was gone and where the bird had stood was a black feather.
John Macleod
True Story
In 1999 my Father-in-Law, Bert, died from a stroke. As a result, my Mother-in-Law, Hilda came to live with us. We built a new room onto the house: Hilda’s room. Hilda's room had a northerly aspect and overlooked the swimming pool. I jokingly used to tell Hilda she had the best room in the house; it faced north and had a water view. When Hilda moved in so did ‘Tiny’ her budgerigar; it was my job every Saturday morning to clean out Tiny’s cage. Well, unfortunately Hilda passed away last August and Tiny became our foster bird.
One Saturday, not long after Hida died a strange thing happened. I picked up Tiny’s cage from under the patio and with Tiny on board, whisked the cage out into the laundry and left the cage on the top of the washing machine whilst I ate breakfast. I was half way through my muesli and reading the race form when I heard loud squarking at the front. The noise sounded very much like a bird in distress. I put down the paper, walked up the hall, and opened the door.
I looked down and there a few feet away was a magpie in all his/her finery: a smart feathered dinner jacket and shirt.
I said. ‘Why all the fuss?’
The bird didn’t move; instead it turned Its head to the left, and leaning slightly, one small brown eye peered down the hall.
I had some mincemeat in the fridge I said. ‘You hungry mate I’ll get something to eat.’
The bird didn’t move it was as if I wasn’t there.
I closed the door and went back into the kitchen got a small amount of mincemeat from the fridge and rolled two small meat balls.
I had just moved out of the kitchen with the food in my hand; for some unknown reason I poked my head into the laundry. I received a terrible shock: Tiny, little eyes closed lay dead on the bottom of the cage.
I walked swiftly back to the front door and opened the door.
The magpie was gone and where the bird had stood was a black feather.
John Macleod