Lucy and I went out recently to check the newly opened Cellars at Hughenden House, and encountered a slightly odd phenomenon in the car park. A gaggle of Bullocks clustered around the (hot) cars, some climbing up onto them and licking the windscreens and lights, even with people in the cars. One or two had broken wing mirrors and wipers.
Last of this year's Stick Insects has now curled up its toes. MacLeay’s Wraiths weren’t discovered until 1828, but if they had been, they’d have been popular in the Middle Ages, as reminders of slow and constant mortality. They develop papery, blotchy skin, lose their grip, and finally start falling to pieces, when, in the course of nature, something would snaffle them up, no doubt.
Bits of Tinky Winky II started falling off a week or so ago, and she ended up doing a kind of Byronic deathbed scene on leaves at the bottom of the tank, because she couldn’t hang from brambles any more but was obviously still just alive. We hope she died happy.
We should have provided piped Mahler for a kind of Death in Venice effect. Try that next year. Woodland burial out the back was this morning. We have 600 eggs for next year, expected to start hatching this autumn. MacLeay’s Wraiths live just under a year, so anthropomorphically minded fans will be glad to know that each Stick Insect Year is about 4 days....
There’s a lovely picture in this week's Church Times from Hulcott, where I went to bless animals the other week, including a snake. I admit Fr Mark the vicar didn’t look too keen originally, but he soon cottoned on and was motoring before the end of the afternoon. I can guarantee the snake was lovely and warm and dry. I am now officially recommending snake handling to all my ordained colleagues. This is the Church of England, so they don’t have to be poisonous.
After yesterday’s animal magic, in which, may I say, beginner’s luck won through and I was most triumphant, now every wild animal in Bucks is calling round for a blessing. I am, in principle, a man of peace, but if this behaviour carries on will end up applying a water pistol, if not a shotgun, to our furry cousins. This morning Lucy and I were woken at 5·10 (5·10!) by a fox and a muntjac deer. I applied a camera not water (or other) pistol to the situation. This once. Preaching to the animals is a new line for me, and this morning’s message was: “Go away you little blighters. Haven’t you got homes to go to?” This splash comes with a Hello Magazine exclusive on our latest phasmid baby. Thus on to weightier matters than wildlife...
The legendary Mrs Trellis of North Wales points out to me that in Matthew 8:20, Jesus says that foxes do, in fact, have homes to go to. It’s good to know that. If tomorrow the foxes would care to follow Jesus’ instructions in this matter, this county will have a less grumpy bishop on Tuesday. Thank you very much.
Everybody does one of these services during their ministry, said a friend pointedly. Actually, after an afternoon blessing animals on the green at Hulcott, I'd cheerfully do one a week. Eat your heart out, Dr Doolittle. The sun shone (fitfully and improbably). None of the congregation ate any of the others, which always helps on these occasions. Kudos to Mark Ackford (Team Vicar) and Peter Boulton (Churchwarden) for getting everything together so beautifully on the green. Also council workers who cut the grass specially this week to make it all possible. Above all, thanks also to Rosie the Corn Snake and Arthur the Badger, and their owners...
I don’t usually do cutesy animal stuff, but Lucy has pointed out these are irresistible — From Toronto Zoo, two Sea Otters holding hands. In the spirit of “heave-a-brick-at-the-screen” irritating M&S ads, these are not otters. These are Newfoundlnd baby sea otters, with fluffy paws, little bushy tails and Steiff teddy bear noses, synchro-swimming in fresh Ontario Brine. Bless!
