The Emissary
The Emissary
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
- Bob Pacey
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Re: The Emissary
Not the first Budgie I've ever seen drop dead of fright John. I used to breed them and had a special cover set out from the front of the cage to stop the butcher birds and maggies attacking them. lost a few over the years.
Bob
Bob
The purpose in life is to have fun.
After you grasp that everything else seems insignificant !!!
After you grasp that everything else seems insignificant !!!
Re: The Emissary
G'day, Marty.
I can believe that.
Magies are pretty smart.
They mate for life. If one partner dies the other stands guard warbling and trying to wake the other.
John
I can believe that.
Magies are pretty smart.
They mate for life. If one partner dies the other stands guard warbling and trying to wake the other.
John
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- Bob Pacey
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Re: The Emissary
Used to make a bit of a warbling noise at the missus when she was pretending to be asleep after I came home from the pub..Does that count.
Love is grand Divorce is 100 grand.
Never used to drink rum then either.
Rob Hic Bert
Love is grand Divorce is 100 grand.
Never used to drink rum then either.
Rob Hic Bert
The purpose in life is to have fun.
After you grasp that everything else seems insignificant !!!
After you grasp that everything else seems insignificant !!!
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Re: The Emissary
John, are you sure you didn't cause some damge in the hasty move from the verandah to the laundry ? 

Neville
" Prose is description, poetry is presence " Les Murray.
" Prose is description, poetry is presence " Les Murray.
Re: The Emissary
G'day Marty,
Yeah, mate.
Life in Sing Sing.
Mate, If your having dinner and there is a black feather on the table.
Better say your prayers.
John
Yeah, mate.
Life in Sing Sing.

Mate, If your having dinner and there is a black feather on the table.
Better say your prayers.

John
Re: The Emissary
Yep!
Ok Bob.
Just hope the missus hasn't got brown eyes?
If she has and she starts staring past your shoulder...watch out n' start taking your pulse.
John
Ok Bob.
Just hope the missus hasn't got brown eyes?
If she has and she starts staring past your shoulder...watch out n' start taking your pulse.

John