Brought back from the dead: an 8 y o’s optimism…

Rest in peace, Squishy

Last night there was a death in the family. Well, not our actual family so much as the plover family who have taken up residency in my front yard (so much so I was going to shout out and ask them if they’d like to contribute to my rates bill they like it here that much). For the past two weeks those squalking yellow-beaked maniacs have stalked me in my own home to the point where, when I take the dog for a walk, I’m forced to carry a 6ft bloody pole over my shoulder and wave it vigorously at them just to make it down my driveway.

They are fierce protectors them plover birds. It’s unfortunate then that they’re not protective enough to teach their fluffy little babies a few common sense road rules. And the consequences are dire.

On arriving home from dinner last night, our rather devastated 8 y o discovered the squished corpse of one of the plover family’s tiny babies which had met a rather unfortunate fate under the wheel of the car. It must have been looking for little wormies under the wheel or something and mummy plover was too busy trying to take our heads off with its flying overhead swoop to get her baby over to the safety of the lawn. Too late. Baby squished.

‘Oh I didn’t do a very good job of looking after them,’ came 8 y o’s response to the dead chick. ‘Can’t we fix it?’ he asked his step-daddy who was by now holding the limp and lifeless baby in his hand. Such hope, such optimism and after all, his step-daddy is one of his greatest heroes – and a vet to boot – if there was anyone who could save this little fluffball…it would definitely be him. ‘Sorry mate, but he’s squished’ we told him, by now with tears welling up in his little blue eyes.

I was beginning to worry that we were going to have to hold a burial ceremony for little squishy chick but fortunately we managed to get away with disposing of little Squishy so it’s mummy and daddy didn’t find it the next morning (and then take it’s nasty vendetta out on the driver of the car) by giving him the very dignified send off of being placed in the big green wheelie bin.

This morning mummy and daddy plover are still staking out their claim on my front lawn but now it’s just with one little fluffy baby and not two. Rest in peace, Squishy.

At least that’s what I think until I see mummy and daddy back and they’ve got two chicks again – there must’ve been another chick hiding all this time. I tell 8 y o to come quick and look out the window, there are two chicks. ‘The mummy plover must’ve found it in the bin and bought it back to life,’ he says. Bless.
Hugs, Lady Mam G xo

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