Now the Magpie

Pliny the Elder is giving me a lecture on the subject of talking birds. I am only half listening.

The parrot, he intones, is a green bird with a red circlet round its neck, and comes from India. It can be taught to greet its master and repeat words. Its head and beak are very hard. While being taught to speak it must be beaten on the head with an iron bar. Its head is so hard that it will feel nothing less. Its feet are weak, so it alights on its beak, in order to support itself .........

Suddenly a scratchy voice pipes up: Tch tch tch! That's right ! Hit the birds! Hit the birds!

It sounds like, could it be ......Victor the deceased talking budgie? He seems rather cross.

It's cruel ! That's what it is, cruel ! he squawks.

Victor! I cry. Is it you? Are you not deceased?

Are you not ? Are you not? he twitters.

No I'm not, but Pliny here has been, I answer.

Well! He should know!! Tch tch tch! He stares at Pliny aggressively. Pliny the Elder shrugs.

I decide a tactful change of subject is required. Lately, I say, there has been a great deal written in the newspapers blaming birds for various disasters which I myself do not think is entirely fair, and I am sure Pliny agrees with me.

Victor cocks his head on one side.

Yes, I continue, the recent plane that crashed into the Hudson River is said to have gone down due to hitting a flock of birds. And closer to home the terrible fires in Port Lincoln last week were blamed by a farmer on a pelican flying into electricity wires. The farmer said it happens quite a lot. The pelican ignites and all the flaming pieces float down into the dry grass and start a fire.

Victor emits a terrible screech of horror, and disappears like a phoenix in a firestorm, leaving only a smoking feather behind.

Well, said Pliny, I suppose I must thank you for that. Now the magpie.........