Christmas has become the rape of an idea

A pair of Streptopelia chinensis larking about at St Johns Park, New Town. December 2010.

Streptopelia chinensis – the Spotted Turtle Dove to its friends – is a pigeon which is a resident breeding bird in tropical southern Asia from Pakistan, India and Sri Lanka east to south China and Southeast Asia. Obviously, you can add New Town to that list!

In fact, my spies (as well as my moles, emissaries, stoolies and informants) tell me that these buggers are spreading at a rate of knots, often to the detriment of our very own native doves. Like the European Wasps and Argentinean Ants, immigrant animals are overrunning us!

Something must be done. We don’t need words, we need ACTION.

Now, I’ve looked into the matter and realise that our detention centres are all full. Offshore confinement won’t work, as the ~~bustards~~ bastards can fly.

Well, I decided to take matters into my own hands and wring these two buggers’ necks. They put up a hell of a fight!

That is our Christmas dinner sorted, at the very least!

Comments

MurciaDailyPhoto said…

The best remedy is to introduce a larger animal that eats this. If this works, would introduce a new animal to eliminate the latter. If this works, should continue introducing animals, until finally, the introduction of an animal that ends the first to introduce this bird: The Man.

23 December 2010 at 11:13

Roddy said…

You should try Fantail. A white dove/pigeon that is much tenderer.
Still, if you're hungry you will eat almost anything.

23 December 2010 at 12:40

Kris McCracken said…

MDP, we have tried that in the past...

Roddy, yum!

23 December 2010 at 15:28

Kris McCracken said…

Hnedri, cheers!

28 December 2010 at 11:35

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke

In dreams begin responsibilities.

A life at sea, that's for me, only I just don't have the BREAD. That's right, Theme Thursday yet again and I post a photo of a yacht dicking about in Bass Strait just off Wynyard. The problem is, I am yet again stuck at work, slogging away, because I knead need the dough . My understanding is that it is the dough that makes the BREAD. And it is the BREAD that buys the yacht. On my salary though, I will be lucky to have enough dough or BREAD for a half dozen dinner rolls. Happy Theme Thursday people, sorry for the rush.

This will hurt me...

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