aliens in the undergrowth

I was strolling with my wee dog, Finn, through a local wood, probably more accurate to call it a copse. It is not a big wood.

It was a pleasant early evening and as I wandered, so did my mind, it does that. At the same time

my wee dog was also wandering and looking for things to chew, sniff, pee on, bark at or

snarl at. Mind you he is a terrier, nothing new there. He scuttled out of my sight, round a corner and behind some undergrowth and bushes. Sniffing out another rabbit I mused. Then I heard a low growl from deep in his throat. Hmmm I thought, this sounds serious what has he found?

I skipped, perhaps skipped is the wrong word, around the corner after him and stopped dead in my tracks a few steps behind him. He was growling deeply, hackles up and in the crouched, ready to pounce position that terriers take up. A few feet in front of him was the reason for the stand off and his particularly terrier like behaviour.

A family of aliens was stealthily moving through the undergrowth, led by an adult, the mother perhaps. Difficult to tell with aliens which is the mother or father, perhaps, like the Aspidoscelis genus of lizard, the Whiptal Lizard for instance, these aliens have no need for a male as they reproduce without the need for male fertilisation. Maybe they are of the parthenogenetic species and are genetically isolated? Or is this distentifolium? I cannot think, what to do next. Well, I sneak a photograph, no, not a self y.

Then I came to my senses. Who cares how they breed, what are they. We might be surrounded, I might have stumbled into an alien invasion, 'Independence Day'. No can't be, that was last September. Should I contact Roswell, they will know what to do. I sensed a world changing moment and only my brave terrier was on hand to save the world. Where is he?

Then, behind me, I hear more rustling in the undergrowth. I turn slowly, trying not to make a quick movement. Oh no! Another one, a BIG one. Where did it come from?

I am surrounded. I look back to the first group. They are nowhere to be seen. Just melted into the undergrowth. I quickly look round. The big one, where is it. Gone. Got to get out of here. Where is that dog? I frantically look about for him. Nowhere to be seen. Oh, he has been abducted by aliens. How will I explain that to my wife.

Then more rustling behind bushes to my left. My fear of another alien encounter is replaced by the even bigger fear of arriving home and telling my wife her dog has been abducted by aliens. I gingerly edge forward and peek over the bush.

Agh! Too late. There he is rolling about in fox shit. Bastard.

I get the lead back on him, carefully.

Back home I telephone the only obvious authority on aliens I know. However the UKIP person I spoke to was of little help and kept blaming the Europeans and going on about how much benefits they would claim.

I couldn't get through to Roswell and by the time I had hosed the dog down it seemed not that important.

A Whiptail Lizard. This might be an alien in the UK, but not to the planet as they are found in the grassland deserts of New Mexico, Arizona and parts of Texas. Hmmm, nearly alien then.

grey heron

The Grey Heron, is a wading bird of the heron family Ardeidae. You will see them throughout the United Kingdom, usually with there feet in rivers, ponds, any stretch of water where they are likely to catch a fish. They will also feed on small mammals, frogs and even grubs. They are tall slender birds with extra long legs and have a graceful, slow flight. They generally nest and roost high in trees, where, due to their size and long legs they can look quite ungainly.

I was lucky today, I was able to observe one fishing in the river Allan at Bridge of Allan, totally oblivious to my attentions and the passing traffic. I took the photographs from the bridge.

After the series of photographs I have added an old Scot's poem about a frog (puddock) in which a grey heron takes a leading role.   (The poem is in old Scot's and may be difficult to read, even for a Scot)

take off

not far

ease back

landing gear down

The Puddock

A puddock sat by the lochan's brim,
An' thocht there wis never a puddock like him.
He sat oan his hurdies, he waggled his legs
an' cockit his heid as he glowered thro' the seggs.
The bigsy wee cratur' wis feeling that prood,
he gapit his mou' an' he croakit oot lood:
Gin ye'd a' like tae see a richt puddock', quo' he,
ye'll never I'll sweer, get a better nor me.
I've fem'lies an' wives an' a weel plenished hame,
wi' drinks fur ma thrapple, an' meat fur me wane.
The lassies aye thocht me a fine strapp'n chiel,
An' I ken I'm a rale boony singer as weel.
I'm nae gaun tae blaw, but th' truth a maun tell,
I believe I'm the verra MacPuddock himsel'.

back on the lookout

A heron was hungry an' needin' tae sup,
sae he nabbit th' puddock an' gollup't him up;
Syne runkled his feathers: 'A peer thing', quo' he,
'but puddocks is nae fat they eesed tae be.' 

J M Caie