The Big Sleep?

Yesterday I detected faint stratching noises from the box in the corner. It brought a certain amount of relief as it showed that Thunder the tortoise was on the move and had survived his mammoth winter snooze. I went to investigate and found him facing away from the opening so I turned him round and as the sun permeated his domain he tottered back out into the big world.
Thunder "fell asleep" on November 17th. The expression is usually reserved for those sleepers who aren't going to wake up again and there is always that uneasy feeling that after three months of oblivion, he indeed might not emerge in the same state that he dozed off. Happily however, he is definitely alive, living, sentient, with us.
A warm bath was called for with the fan heater blowing like the Harmattan across his little oasis. A good soak seemed just the thing to re-hydrate him and give him that feel good factor. After drying in the warmth he went back to bed to recover from the effort.
In spite of last night's sub zero temperature he was up this morning basking in the patch of warmth coming through the window. Breakfast was clearly called for and I raided the freezer for green beans and brocolli, just the thing to put some zip back into him.
Thinking of The Big Sleep it crossed my mind that Thunder does have certain characteristics in common with Phillip Marlow, that rather hardbitten, laconic, approach to life. He's been around, nothing surprises him and he likes the dames. Thunder doesn't get much opportunity to meet glamorous chicks with pouty red lips, blowing smoke seductively over him. He has to make do with the fan heater and a certain questionable relationship with a black lace-up shoe. It will take him a few days to stoke his boiler and then off he will go, chugging around his manor, watching, observing, a master of disguise - yes, he would make a good private eye.
Meanwhile, the weekly shop will now include tortoise treats - bananas, strawberries, salad, avocado and I'll have the pleasure of sharing the garden with him.

I Talk to the Trees

Does anybody else talk to teabags? I found myself doing so some months ago but it was a while before it struck me that perhaps it was odd.

I don't have a full scale conversation with them, you understand. I don't expect a reply. I simply offer some reassurance when a particular crisis arises.

This only applies to those teabags that are Siamese twins, the sort that are joined in the middle. For some reason, I was making tea one day and extracted a single teabag from the caddy (caddy is a rather grand word for a semi-circular, ex sweet tin with skaters on the lid). Anyway, as I blithely ripped one teabag from its twin, I suddenly imagined its scream of terror, those awful pictures you see when family members are torn apart, holding up arms in supplication to be allowed to remain together. It was at this time that I found myself saying to the bereft teabag: 'Don't worry, it will be your turn next and then you will both be reunited on the compost heap.' Every story should have a happy ending.

So far I haven't actually enunciated my thoughts out loud - that would be silly, wouldn't it? Keep your thoughts to yourself is my advice for who knows what is going on the head next to you? Probably best left in ignorance.

Trouble in the Neighbourhood

A turf war has broken out in the garden.  In anticipation of spring, resident blue tits have been refurbishing the bird box and already lined it with moss.  The peace of the neighbourhood was shattered this morning when a gang of marauding sparrows swooped into the garden and cast covetous eyes over the desirable residence. 

The blue tits didn't give up easily.  Latching onto the chest of a cock sparrow the incumbant gave him a meaningful peck before taking to the air with the tit still hanging onto his feathers.  In their absence a hen sparrow ambushed a second blue tit in the act of claiming back the box. A cacophany of sound that was less than musical shattered the stillness of the morning. 

As an observer, immediately human values come into play.  The blue tits were there first, so surely they have a right of occupation?  Sparrows are immediately labelled as aggressors, usurpers, interlopers, trouble makers.  On the other hand, blue tits are commonplace in our garden whereas over the years sparrows have declined so that seeing one is something to remarked upon. 

Everything is now silent.  Have the sparrows given up and gone away?  Have the blue tits barricaded themselves in and refused to come out?  Perhaps bird life is too short to hang around rowing over a tiny piece of territory.  It would be a loss though, if both families called it a day, leaving an empty, abandoned pied a terre.  Meanwhile, I will just keep listening and looking.