TEDETTA
I was sitting in the garden, enjoying a cup of coffee and a croissant,
When something white with feathers, landed in the pond with a mighty SPLOSH
I thought it was a duck – but it wasn’t,
It was a white pigeon, or should I say ‘white dove’ – which sounds quite posh.
He spluttered out of the pond and slumped down on the patio, near to where I was sitting,
He seemed to have no fear of me and wasn’t in the least suspicious,
Merely observing social distance, which was fitting,
But at the same time, injudicious.
This guy was far too trusting, totally lacking in savvy and markedly unassertive,
He wouldn’t stand a chance against the local riffraff, like the magpies and crows
Or the neighbourhood fox, who was cunning, bold and furtive,
And totally lacking in compassion – as everybody knows.
The pigeon/dove clearly demonstrated his intentions of moving in and taking up residence.
We invested some time in exploring his dietary expectations,
We named him Ted but after having done so, we found sufficient evidence
To suggest that Ted was actually Tedetta, which had various implications.
Yesterday, she attracted a troop of common wood pigeons, who were puffing themselves up and doing their hugely irritating cooing .
Today, she has invited three, pinky-beige, aristo pigeons over for lunch,
I cannot help but feel that there’s trouble brewing,
For I sense that we are being skillfully manipulated into buying a dovecote – just a hunch!
She had been with us about three weeks, living in the equivalent of a pigeon five-star hotel.
With four meals a day provided, which was handy because Tedetta was a gatherer, not a hunter.
And although she was obviously in good health and doing well,
Eating all those meals had transformed her into Bessie Bunter.
Early on a sunny morning in July, we found a mass of white feathers strewn across the lawn Whilst we didn’t know exactly what had happened - we guessed.
We never saw Tedetta again and our hearts were torn.
R.I.P, little dove
Fly free, little dove.
You were the best.
Maggie Smart
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