How Do You Do, Hamish

A bitter north wind, the kind that chills every ounce of your being, was whistling through the trees as I popped back to the Botanics to see how Sammy the Squirrel and his family were faring. Knowing he and Mrs Squirrel would almost certainly have their hands full with the new arrivals, I was somewhat surprised to see Sammy sat high on the branch of a tree, nibbling on a nut without a care in the world. I politely enquired after his offspring, wondering where he found the time to sit around and let life pass him by. Three youngsters, he advised me, leaning back on his tail and twitching his nose, and all girls. "Two weeks old, and already I'm feeling very much outnumbered. Sharing a drey with four women is almost more than any respectable squirrel can bear." This last comment was accompanied by a mischievous grin, so I

continued our conversation by asking whether they had been given names. Pulling a piece of bark from beneath his tam o' shanter he read: "Flossy, Flora and Fauna." Replacing the bark from whence it came, and muttering something about having very little imput into this decision, he sat bolt upright as the sound of Mrs Squirrel's voice reverberated through the branches. Bidding me "Good Day" he scuttled off to put right whatever it was he had done - or no doubt not done.  

From the reeds around the pond, the solitary figure of Hamish the Heron stretched out his neck and added his comments to the proceedings. "Under the paw, that one" he said disdainfully. "No late night nutting for him now. She'll have him chasing his tail, you wait and see." Hamish is a handsome chap, with his long elegant legs, long beak, and black, grey and white feathers. Having made his feelings known, he returned to the job in hand, the devouring of a fresh, crunchy frog. Herons possess incredible patience, standing motionless for long periods of time whilst stalking their prey, and Hamish was no exception. Frog suitably demolished, he took a few leisurely strides, nodded his goodbyes, and took up the stance once again. Fish, frogs, toads, small mammals, all in danger of becoming dessert for Hamish, as I watched him for a few moments more before heading off for a welcome cuppa. The wind was now so strong, I wondered how such slender legs could hold him so still. Why did he not blow over? Stupid question, really, I thought, as I battled up the hill to the cafe .......