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Goodbye Denis
I noticed during the last two weeks of February that I had not seen Denis for
a couple of days. Whenever we went into the garden normally, he would arrive
with a bit of a whoosh and demand a taste of whatever we were carrying, or at
least what we might have in our pockets. I watched and called, even patrolled
the outer perimeter of the garden with a little dish of this and that, but he
didn’t come. I realised that I hadn't seen Pym for a couple of months now, and
I have slowly had to admit to myself that in the general pairing and fighting
for ascendancy that seems to happen in Magpie territory between February and
April, Denis has been done away with.
The sadness we all feel is an enormous
ache. One of the highlights of nearly every day for the past 20 years
has been to go out to the table on the front lawn with a bowl of nuts
and raisins and a beer, and wait for him to arrive and help himself to
whatever he fancied. He often made his way onto the table via a foot, a
knee and finally a small hop to the top – in fact, for the past 20
years he has used us like a boot, and we have adored every minute.
 He was hail and hearty before he disappeared, and a couple of weekends
before, Simon was lying on the lawn trying to take a photograph of George, the
wallaby, as he dined on the claret ash. I watched Denis bowling across the lawn
with his sailor's gait, one wing held half out, and his head moving to left and
right as if checking for traffic. When he arrived, he hopped onto Simon’s
ankle, made his way up his leg, had a bit of a peck at the button on the back of
his trousers, and moved on to the shoulder – all this without being distracted
by the wriggling and hollering that was happening under him as his claws dug
into Simon’s back. He pecked at the shiny arm of his glasses, checked on the
inside of his ear, and then hopped up onto the table! The whole thing was just
so insolent and enchanting. I sat and hooted with laughter.
The new order of Magpies has taken over the garden, and I have resisted the
temptation to pursue them all with a satchel full of half bricks because of what
they have done to my sweet (abominable) friend. Mother Nature has done her
thing, and we have to mind our own business. I wonder if we will ever be taken
over and managed again by one of these delightful creatures, but in the mean
time we will enjoy the photographs and very happy memories we have of one of the
dearest characters we have ever encountered. Goodbye Denis – and thank you!
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