I’ve just spotted the lame woodpigeon on the bridge over the pond. I first saw her (I don’t know the gender, obviously, since males and females dress alike, but to me this bird is a female) a couple of days ago, hobbling across the gymnasium roof. She can fly perfectly well and she’s not limping heavily. She’s eating and drinking, preening and courting, so I think she will survive.
I know how she hurt her foot – or is it her leg? I know, because I did the same thing so next New Year’s Eve she and I will resist the urge to dance in high heels – well, all right, I’ll resist the high heels! I mean, a woodpigeon in high heels – whatever next?
Dancing the night away is wonderful, being transported in the moment, not thinking of the morrow – we’re too
old wise for all that, Mrs Woodpigeon and me.