NW2 Bird Flu: Crisis Averted

Yesterday I popped out in the garden to rescue a large plastic bag which had strayed on the lawn. At high speed, to avoid getting drenched by the lovely April weather we are experiencing in NW2, I retrieved the bag and put it in the dustbin.

On my way to the back door I nipped past a small brown feathery mass on the ground near the house.

It was a bird. A sparrow. Female, of the tree variety. I know my birds.

I stood and stared at until I realised that I was getting soaked. Then I sat dripping on the kitchen counter; all sweaty anxiety pressed up against the window, going cross-eyed in my attempt to see the bird below. After some time, when cramp set in, I embarked on some intense pacing back and forth between the fridge and the oven.

One bird does not bird flu in my garden make. I knew that. You need three dead birds. Not one. I contemplated a thorough search of my garden and all neighbouring gardens in search of other ailing avians. I tried to remember where we had thrown the phone book in order to get the number for the RSPB. I contemplated dialling 999.

I looked up from my fretting. There was a small greasy smudge on the window, beginning to smear under the rain, but there nonetheless. I established that it was on the outside of the window.

It was female tree sparrow shaped.

I rushed back outside and the sparrow had gone. I turned the pieces of evidence over in my razor sharp mind and came up with the following scenario: Stupid bird flies into kitchen window and lays stunned on the ground below. Stupid woman comes home from work and assumes bird flu is rampant in suburban garden. Stupid stunned bird comes round and flies off. Crisis averted.

Thank God, eh?