Maistres Blakkie
Hit is unco at whan the hale warl is tholin a gryte trigidie the smaw hamelt loss is juist as sair as ivver. Wir gairden is tuim an lanerlie syne we tint wir pet blakkie. Shae bad in the gairden fur severals o eirs an hed twa clekkins in ilka simmer. Hir chink-chink caw telt uz at mair mailwirms wes note. We gied the faimlie frute furby seids sae thai hed a hailthfu dyet. Ane eftinuin shae cam happin wi a caum souch intil ma chaumer whaur a wes liggin in bed - ti mynd me o ma dewties nae dout. Hir guidman wesna sae bauld bot A aften sein hir gaein baklins til the nest ti tel him at he suid cum wi hir ti redd up the vittals we hed out pit. Whan A wes howkin growthe shae wes ma constant billie, huntin yird wirms.
This wintir shae wes aye ti the foir. A wes fettlin the mash at hains the strawberries at bene tuirn bi the snaw. Afoir ma denner A gaed bak ti admeir ma wirk. On the grun wes a richt ferlie. A sparrahawk wes puin the fedders aff o a deid burd. He wes a cokk, blak bakkit wi orenge chouks an wesna ti be fleggit awaw. He bot glowered at me wi twa bricht glentin ein an gaed about hiz fell wirk. Eftir ma mait A bak gaed kiz A thocht mibbies he bene insnorled in a bit lowss mash. He wes aye thair, as braw an gallus as afoir. He hed a a kinna divot gruppit in hiz cluiks. A stappit forrit ti sei gif it wes hinnerin the hawk frae flie-in.
In the glimmer o ane ei he wes awaw owre the bussis an A unnerstuid at the divot he wes gruppin wes the lyke o ma frein, the blakkie. Aw at wes laed ahent wes a sairie walin o fedders. The maist orra pairt o ma taill is at a Rid Rab wes singin frae a brainch abune aw the tyme at the ploy wes on gaein.
Mrs Blacky
It is a very strange thing that when the whole world is enduring an immense tragedy the small domestic loss is just as painful as ever. Our garden is empty and lonely since we lost our tame blackbird. She lived in the garden for several years and had two broods every summer. Her chink-chink call told us that more mealworms were needed. We gave the family fruit as well as seeds so they had a healthy diet. One afternoon she came hopping quite calmly into my bedroom where I was lying in bed – no doubt to remind me of my duties. Her husband was not so brave but I have often seen her going back to the nest to tell him that he should come with her to tidy up the food we had left out. When I was pulling up weeds she was my constant companion, hunting earthworms.
This winter she was always present. I was mending the netting that protects the strawberries that had been torn by the snow. Before my lunch I went back to admire my work. On the ground was a very curious sight. A sparrowhawk was plucking the plumage off a dead bird. He was a cock, with a black back and orange cheeks, and refused to be frightened away. He only stared at me with bright glittering eyes and carried on with his savage work. After my meal I went back because I thought that perhaps he had been entangled in a piece of loose mesh. He was still there, as handsome and wild as before. He had something like a lump of turf gripped in his talons. I stepped forward to see if it was preventing the hawk from flying.
In the blink of an eye he was away over the bushes and I understood that the turf he was grasping was the dead body of my friend the blackbird. All that was left behind was a sad collection of feathers. The most odd part of my tale is that a robin was singing from a branch overhead all the time this was happening.