Friday, 7 December 2012

Flowers at Night

The weather last night went all a bit haywire.
Hail, rain, and a single loud clap of thunder lashed the cottage and field and at around 11pm the windows  literally rattled in their frames when huge gusts of wind came literally out of nowhere.
I debated whether or not to check on the state of the Ukrainian village, and heart won over from brains, and so with my trusty wind up torch in hand, I wandered around in the dark
I am glad I did, as the roof of one hen house had been removed completely and had sailed halfway across the field. The 8 hens inside had remained safe, and had crammed themselves into just two nest boxes for safety
It reminded me of one of those Guinness Book of records attempts where a load of bored students get crammed into a telephone box for a laugh.
Anyhow I repaired the hen house and was schelping my way back across the mud when I spied the chunky figure of a badger trotting out of the gloom from the direction of the graveyard. It had something in its mouth, and fascinated I melted back against Cogburn's tall coop to watch him.
Bizarrely the badger was carrying a small posy of  flowers with grim determination.They looked to be white blooms and could have been,in fact plastic
The Posy was probably a tribute from one of the graves in the graveyard.
I wondered if they were from Mrs Jones' grave,
the last burial in the village.

The badger eventually tottered past me and disappeared into the dark with his head held high
Funny what you see when you don't expect it

21 comments:

  1. Oh dear. Mrs Badger and the baby badgers are going to be disappointed when they try to eat them for supper!

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  2. Mr Badger must have been out on the razzle and needed a floral apology for the missus back in their sett - just like naughty men at petrol stations in the early hours.
    "Where've you been Brock?"
    "Oh just playing dominoes with the lads down at The Juicy Beaver!"

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    1. Woops, my comment was almost identical to YP's.... a rare occurrence. Poor old Brock; you can't win with flars!

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  4. In fact, you can't go wrong with flowers. I hope that Mrs Brock and all this little brockettes appreciate the effort he put in to bring them home. And what a shame you didn't have a camera. That would have been quite a sight.

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  5. Now when people complain about their flower tributes being stolen from graves (that happens around here) you will know "who" took them! I wonder how many flowers the badgers have in their home?

    I'm glad that you found the hens well. Pity the hen at the bottom of the pile! hee hee

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  6. How strange John or is it normal for a badger to steal flowers ? That would have made a wonderful photograph ..... didn't you think to take your camera out with you in the wind, hail and rain ?
    .......... and, how's the Scoth Egg count ?!! XXXX

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  7. Like they say:

    "Fact is funnier than Fiction."

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  8. What a delightful scene - Mr Badger taking flowers home for his Misses. Gorgeous.

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  9. I would call that a reward for having your heart rule your head, and for mending the henhouse.

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  10. Like to be a fly on the wall of THAT den when he brings his prize home to the family.

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  11. Maybe he was in trouble with Mrs Badger.

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  12. How many G&Ts had you had?
    Jane x

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  13. Are you sure you didn't dream this whole fantasy? On the other hand, I bet the cold and wet were real enough.

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  14. Maybe you witnessed the rare sight of badger's courtship.

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  15. Flowers will solve any marital problem...although I'm not sure plastic ones will work.

    I remember as a student being involved in an attempt to see how many people you could fit it in a Mini...I can't remember how many we managed, but I do remember it had to be driven fifty yards in a shopping centre to qualify, which must have been the most dangerous thing ever!

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  16. I once saw a coyote packing off a small watermelon. It was the middle of the day and he dropped it when he spotted me. I went over to check and see what kind of prey had such an odd shape and saw it was a watermelon.

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  17. There's a book in the making here John.

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  18. Sounds like it is right out of a Brian Jaques book!

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