Monday, November 17, 2008

Its only a Vole

I had escaped temporarily the mayhem that is a Saturday morning when you are acting as stand in captain of Buxton RUFC Third XV. My mobile had been red hot all morning with last minute cry offs and folks dropping out. As my list of available players dwindled to a bare fifteen and then like the Footsie plunged below it, I sought refuge in a little retail therapy. I was under further stress as Mrs BW was off on an all day jaunt (she calls it a course) which meant that as the Thirds were playing away, albeit close by in the Hope Valley, I would have to leave the Weasel in charge. Before you get on the phone to Social Services she is sixteen and of course highly responsible, but nevertheless I like to make sure that everything is organised before I leave so that there is little for her to actually do. So there I was chilling for a few minutes in Buxton, amongst its shops. It always gives me a lift especially at this time of year as the grey, drizzly, moist,overcast skies contrasts with the autumnal oranges and yellows of the leaves on the trees and the damp limestone buildings. As I illegally parked the car on double yellows to nip in and pick up the rutgby shirts my phone hummed at me from the depths of my trouser pocket. Another player crying off? I sighed deeply and looked at the screen. It was a text from the Weasel. "Dad phone home pleez"
I phoned home.
"Dad. Dad there's a Vole in the kitchen"
"Did you say vole?"
"Yes Dad, a vole! Its horrible."
"Weasel its only a vole for gods sake....."
"But Dad its dead"
"Well at least it can't go anywhere then, can't you pick it up and put it in the bin outside?"
"But dad its got no head, I can't bare to look at it."
I arrived back at BW mansions to find a pyjama clad Weasel hopping from foot to foot in the hall. She pointed to the kitchen, "Its in there"
I sighed again, I knew where the kitchen was and on closer inspection she was right there was a headless vole. I picked it up in newspaper and popped it outside in the recycling. The cats eyed me with a look of smug satisfaction. They had a whole afternoon of the Weasel being in charge to look forward to.


Brother Tobias said...

Excellent post! (Although I'm worried that you now have a 'Headless Voles' label. Better not let the Weasel know that you expect a series!)

Kim Ayres said...

Clearly you need to train the cats to use the bin

The Birdwatcher said...

BT - That would never do! She is a little gold mine for posts though.
Kim - Litter trays and cat flaps just about, one can even open the door, but the bin is beyond them.

Richard said...

Help! I need birds identifying. I was out for a walk on Sunday along the canal and as I approached a stand of trees on the other side, I was aware of a smallish flock of birds flying off and back, one by one. They were quite animated. They seemed to disappear as I approached and returned after I'd passed, even though I was no threat. I can't say I was familiar with them but they had quite a distinctive shape: about the size of a blackbird but not as streamlined. Wings didn't seem long enough, if you know what I mean. Deep bellied in flight, like a small hatchet or rocker knife. Pale, dirty cream breasted, darker back. Flight was kind of deliberately laboured and seemed to require a lot of effort with two or three quick flaps followed by a short dipping glide and was quite slow considering the amount of effort they were expending. They are probably something dead common but I can't say as I have much of a clue.

The Birdwatcher said...

Richard - try this you'll have to cut and paste it into your browser. It sounds like a fieldfare to me on the brief description you have given

Richard said...

Well, I must admit although my knowledge of birds is sketchy to say the least, that was one that kind of rang a bell so I looked it up the other day. I can't say from the illustration to be honest but then I do rather take those with a pinch of salt.