No Birds Sing

What a drama going on in these parts of Scotland! Nothing less than beared flu, if you please. I was in such a twitter when somebeary told me that I thought I would plump off my chair. Beared flu! Not the sort of thing you want around this neck of the woods.

As soon as Sarah came over I rushed to her with the news.

"Beared flu?" she said. "What, in the name of the wee man...? Oh, you mean bird flu?"
"Aye, beared flu, that's what I said!" said I. "Isn't it an awful thing to have around here, and all us bears living nearby?"
"No, no," said Sarah - "it's bird flu the media is so full of. You're safe, you wee gomerel."
"Safe?" said I, a mite disappointed. "What, bears never catch it at all?"
"Not a single bear," said Sarah - "it's aiming at the birds."
"Oh," I said, and digested the thought along with my scone. "How many birds are languishing of it around here?"
"Only one that we know of," said Sarah - "and it wasn't from these parts."
"What, a furreign bird?" said I, dropping my scone. "If there's no bird flu around here, then, what's the flap all about? No, no, no - there's no smoke without a fire, that's what I always say. Something must be going on."

I went for a good peer out our window - and blessed if I could see a single bird anywhere, despite all the trees, grass, blue sky and other things birds hold so dear.

"There are no birds!" I cried in despair.
"What - not one?" asked Sarah.
"Not one!" I moaned. "They are all dead! It has killed them all - the beared flu."
"Bird flu," corrected Sarah.
"What is all the commotion?" asked my own special human, Mary, joining us at the window.
"There are no birds left in Scotland!" I wailed. "They all dropped down with the beared flu!"
"Mercy me!" said Mary. "Poor creatures. Are there any outside the kitchen window?"
We toddled over to the kitchen window and took a quick glimmer round.
"Oh!" I cried. "Look over there - there's a sole survivor, and it's pecking in our lawn."
"What kind of bird is it?" asked Mary, setting out fresh mugs in pretty colours.
"A doo," I said - "a big fat grey one."
"Oh," said Mary, disappointed. "It would be just our luck to lose all our birds except for the doos and sky rats. They'll still be flocking round here when all the rest are gone. Bleuch."

Then I noticed some other feathery forms flying overhead, a corben on the neighbour's roof and a sparrow prinking itself in the bush.

"Well then," I said, toddling over to the steaming mugs. "What are you old crones gawking out the window for? We don't have all day. Give us another scone."