The carrots have been finished. Grains, vegetable scraps, stale bread and peelings are not sufficient sustenance for hungry marsupial bellies, it would seem. The conifers are being consumed in protest and the olive trees held to ransom. The chanteuse wafts across the forecourt channelling the Weimar Republic but it is of no use to the wallabies. The pademelons are particularly snarky, it being so difficult to best the bigger animals even when the menu is satisfactory. No chance this week, might as well stay at home.
It is closely held secret that the next offering will be small amounts of barley.
The windows, all of them, harbour reflected wrens that must be seen off by the resident breeding pair, Pete and Jan. The flurries of aggression seem endless, and the nest is far from finished. It may, of course, be a decoy or an architectural experiment. Jan is furious; at the intruders, the unfinished nest, and, particularly, at Pete.
The girls bicker. Bridie catches sight of Nell, from behind, as Nell feints and pretends to leave early. There is a lot of wallaby balanced on that tail. Under her breath, Bridie mutters “lardass”. Nell pretends not to hear, and resolves to go easy on the pumpkin seeds.
