Saturday, 22 August 2009

B R Thrush

An amble early morn outside the hotel into some interesting looking scrubland produced the ubiquitous Sardinian Warbler, 5 of the fuckers calling at each other, 2 Tawny Pipits, one of which chased of a Thekla Lark and the Thekla Lark shit itself and went and got its Dad and elder brother.  By this time the Pipit had been joined by his mate, perhaps the baddest meanest pipit of them all.  This Tawny Pipit is not like your average Tawny Pipit.  This Tawny Pipit caught cattle with his bare hands, was the meanest shot in the West and of course chewed chewing tobacco.  He goes by the name of Johnny Knuckles. 
Clint Eastwood:  "I'm looking for a Pipit by the name of Johnny Knuckles. Johnny, peering from under the brim of his stetson from a darkened corner of the room, bourbon in his hand, says in his gravelly voice "that'll be me...."

The Thekla Larks fronted Johnny and the other Tawny Pipit (the pipit with no name), a no-mans land separating the parties until Daddy Thekla shouted "get the Pipit bastards" and a big squabble ensued but I couldn't tell who won which was disappointing cos I'd had a bet on Johnny Knuckles winning in the 6th at 8/1.

A Booted Eagle, up on high, a Kestrel, lots of Gliding Swifts, a Spotted Fly, a Woodchat, lots of Swallows up on high, a Robin and then something flew towards me.
Whenever I haven't seen a Blue Rock Thrush for a while they always confuse me for a second.  This one flew towards me, "Starling" I thought for a split second, "Blackbird" I thought in the next split second, then it landed and it did that little curtsey that they do to introduce themselves. "Ah, Blue Rock Thrush, nice to see you again little fella".
I know what you're thinking,
has he fired six shots or only five?
In all the excitement I kinda lost count myself.


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