The roost whereunto Mr Ian Corby betook himself was an eclectic not to say catholic affair, being a place whither birds of very different feather were in the habit of keeping the most intimate company. It was not, as might have been expected, upon Windmill Hill, where Mr Hawksmoor Perroquet upon his first arrival in Bristol all those years previously had built his very first bower of bliss. In point of fact, it was in what was, from the human if not the avian perspective, a rather more sequestered purlieu, viz. directly over the most ill-favoured, slimy kennel in the most impenetrable thicket pertaining to Dogging Woods up on Durdham Downs. —
Durdham Downs, Windmill Hill, Ian Corby, Hawksmoor Perroquet, Dogging Wood
Among the feathered creatures which sought sanctuary upon the branches above was a pair conspicuously non-native to that habitat, these being none other than Ms. Arabella Melopsittaca and her fledged chick. These two with no little interest witnessed the Franciscan condescension of Mr Ian Corby, although they did not deign to make their own presence known to him, preferring to hold themselves aloof from the poor throwers teeming huggerbugger below. —
Arabella Melopsittaca
“Why!” said that gentleman espying these two as he alighted on a branch close by, “Foreign guests! Madam is a budgie, if ah be no mistaken; and hurr fair companion … well … ah must confess maseff at a lawss. Ah’d hazarrrd, ’tis a talkin’ species?” —
budgie
This site would like to use cookies to count visits and measure advertising. Nothing is set unless you accept.
