The first rays of sunlight began to edge their way around the handsome curve of the Earth. It was just back of 3:00 am, and my brothers and sisters – eager not to lose their comfy positions on branches and posts everywhere – began to sing like billyo in case anyone considered them dead, their cosy beds free for the taking. In the house below, a series of shrill howls indicated that our collective racket had awoken Romany, the elderly-confused cat who lived there. And boy, was he giving it laldy! Pretty soon his owner thumped out of bed and proceeded to feed him. We knew this, seated up here near the sky, because a familiar thundering noise told us that the younger cat, Reiver, had smelled the food and come through to claim his share. Ten minutes later all went quiet as the household retired back to bed, punctuated only by the odd howl as Romany proved difficult to settle. Pretty soon 6:00 am rolled round, and the human ‘day’ began.
Various sounds emanated from the home, involving getting ready and eating breakfast. We paid little attention until the huge, hairy one came out with his customary offering of seeds wrapped in juicy fat balls from the pet shop. Did you know we crows can recognise individual humans? Google it! We swooped down eagerly out of the skies to attack those little balls, knowing they possessed the ideal shape to roll away. What fun!
There they went in their little car, just like they do every Sunday morning. The seagulls who live in Piersfield tell us stories of their exploits in the Morrisons car park, sorting fresh produce and bagging it up before driving off to TheHollies to cook some into soup. Crows like me don’t find veg very interesting, but those gulls seem to have a fascination for strange human foods; I can tell you, they will eat almost anything! Today the gulls tell me a new friend called Stanley helped them collect, flanked by his two charming, small daughters.
This week the routine was different; the huge, hairy human (Duncan, I believe he’s called) had been going on excitedly about something . He’s got a new summer job! Activity Leader, which he’s very experienced at. His shift starts at 3pm, so no wonder he was seen by the pigeons who nest in the Hollies’ chimney, sorting the veg into the required number of bags as fast as he could. That little one who wears green (Janine) just went straight for the teapot! She does that every week. A couple of other humans have been there for well over an hour, preparing rolls and warming up the ovens. I wonder if they’ll throw any bread out. Clive? Gordon? Come on Gina; It’s hard to make a living just with wings and no opposable digits…
Here comes the Irish guy, George. White hair but plenty of it, just like Father Ted. Oh dear, the gulls who live above the Pound Shop have scored a direct hit on his car. In this heat it will be burnt on by the time he starts his deliveries. He’s on the phone to a new boss, being asked to come in for 3pm. Since Pilton is on the way, I bet he’ll volunteer for that run and then just go straight to work. He never stops, that guy. Yep; there he goes loaded down with bags and an esky for the hot food.
Soup is served, say the pigeons. Must be about 1:30 pm. Clive the Chef has made two different pots again. One for the humans who eat everything, and one for the ones who have to avoid dairy, onion and other things. Crows approve of the discerning palate, but we draw the line at carrots. I can hear Gordon talking about chopping endless piles of them; so many that they’ll feature in his dreams tonight. Everyone seems to be enjoying the results though. Now Lia and Andreas arrive in their big car, and Gina leaves to do the first Musselburgh run with the small, fast one; Adele. Just where do humans put all that food? They must have hollow legs.
Feston comes, later than usual but not too late for soup! ‘Green’ Janine helps Lia and Andrea pack out their car, then Murdoch joins them to help with Musselburgh run number two. Poor Susan is ill, said the ducks on the river; always first with the gossip, that lot. Murdoch is helping to check on her, and carry all the bags she shares out with her neighbours up to her top flat. All slim and wiry, he looks like he could do the stairs three at a time!
Janine is loading the Polo with bags for Wallyford and Prestonpans now. Go on, drop one of those rolls…Oh! She heard me, Is that half a biscuit I see flying up towards me? Too late to identify it now; it’s gone! And… hold on; she’s turned off. Sneaking home to do a late cat lunch I bet! Fifteen minutes later the starling in the hedge reports that she emerged from her flat, waving at a neighbour and hurrying off to start the polo. Prestonpans gulls report that she finished the run at just after 4pm, and is now heading home to write the blog.
Wonder if I’ll be in it?
Nite all. God bless – Cleo the Crow. For more information, please call their helpline on: 07531 436 389. www.cook-inn.co.uk