THE COMPANY OF MAGPIES

Magpies are related to crows, and, like their larger kin, they are very intelligent gregarious birds. Often they have no fear of humans, and will venture quite close, being by nature extremely inquisitive. Besides, people are notorious in the animal kingdom for haphazardly littering edibles all over the place. Civilization nourishes the multitudes.
Apple cores, leftovers, half-eaten pizza, roadkill.....


NIBBLING THE 'NEEPS
Casual conversation with an acquaintance visiting from somewhere else.

There are magpies in her garden, she tells me. In Spring they like to sun themselves on the fence, and often they boisterously congregate at the end of the property, especially on warm days.
She likes watching them from the kitchen window, purposefully stepping over the lawn looking for bugs or seeds. They are cocky and self-possessed.
Confident cheeky birds, with loads of personality.

Since she retired, she has less contact with people. She lives in the country, the nearest town is a few miles away. But the magpies keep her company. She doesn't miss humans - the birds provide all the eccentricity and social noise she needs to feel connected. And they don't mind her. Occasionally she will put some food out for them, and they will fearlessly come quite close, even landing on the table under the overhang when she is sitting there.
No, she has never touched one of them.
She knows she could, but it would be a breach of trust.

One time she was making dinner, with the kitchen window open. A magpie was perched on the sill looking at her while she moved around.
She could tell from the cock of its head that it was fascinated, it observed her motions with avid interest. After she drained the sliced turnips with cold water, she put them in a saucer to cool on the window sill, taking care not to chase away the bird.
She was going to have the neeps later with a little vinaigrette, salt and pepper, on crisp washed lettuce.
While she stewed some chicken she felt a little embarrassed - here a bird was watching her cook another bird. Wouldn't that be disconcerting? Apparently it wasn't.
She could see that the magpie was still happily observing her. But it had shifted its position, moving more towards the centre of the window sill.

A pinch of ground cinnamon and a little sugar over the chicken - the magpie twitched a bit, and moved over slightly.

As she reached over for the cooking sherry, she noticed that the bird had shifted again. A few stirs with the spatula, and the bird on the window sill moved over even more. She turned the heat low, put a heat-absorber under the pan and covered the gently simmering chicken to finish cooking in its own juices. When she put the spatula down on a plate off to the side, she could see that the magpie was now almost all the way near the end of the window sill, near the turnips.
It was still watching her, but it seemed distracted.

While she washed the turnip pot she observed the magpie reflected in the glass panels of the chinaware cabinet.

It moved right next next to the turnips and cocked it's head. The sliced turnips were now probably quite cold, there was not even a trace of steam. The magpie looked at her, then looked at the turnips again.

Then it picked up a piece.

Yep, those suckers were completely cool. The magpie had no trouble eating it. Without turning around she continued to observe the magpie. The magpie no longer looked at her, it looked at the turnips.
And pecked at another disc.

When she turned off the heat under the chicken, the magpie scooted back to the centre of window sill.

She swears that the bird was trying to look sweet and innocent, as if to say "no, no, I'm really NOT interested in turnip..... got any roadkill?"

She took the chicken and some bread into the dining room to eat, deciding that turnip that has been pecked by a wild bird might not be a good idea for dinner.
When she came back, there was no turnip left, and no magpie on the window sill.


There were four magpies perched on the fence, however, looking fat and sleepy.


She's planning to put out a whole pizza one of these days, on the table under the overhang, so she can say she had company for dinner.
It's the closest you can come to roadkill without riding over something in the station wagon.


==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================