That pigeon

There's been a lone pigeon driving me nuts.  Maybe not quite but darn near.

Just one.  Not one of our beautiful native pigeons, a feral pigeon.  I think that's what they are called.  The type that are found around human habitation.

It's living somewhere close by but I've never seen it.  But hear it?  Oh yes, I hear it.  Day after day, hour after hour.  I watch the clock waiting for mid-afternoon when the sound stops.

I don't know why it annoys me so much.  It brings back memories of my grandmother and no memory of her is ever unwelcome.  I tell that pigeon daily it's lucky Gran isn't here, she'd have it trapped and in a pigeon pie before it could utter another coo.  Maybe it's her voice somewhere deep inside me saying, "Go and chase those blimmin pigeons away from the chook food."  They were always 'blimmin' pigeons, the closest Gran ever came to a swear word.

Maybe I'm finally turning into one of those cranky old ladies who doesn't need much excuse to be irritable, although when it comes to words I prefer irascible.

On the bright side I got to spend time with my oldest grandson over Easter.  And that young man is the most golden-natured of people, could cheer the grouchiest of souls.   He was helping his mother to paint inside her unit.  Being so tall he didn't even need a step-ladder.