Last Saturday morning The Golfer dragged me out of bed, bade me put on my slippers (which he’d laid at my feet), took me by the hand and lead me out the front door, along the verandah, through the gate and into our back yard. Stumbling along, I asked what on earth we were doing and why hadn’t we gone out the back door. “Hush”, whispered The Golfer. “Look!” He slowly pointed a finger at the middle of the Claret Ash where there sat a Tawny Frogmouth. Isn’t he wonderful?
All weekend he sat there quietly; we assume he hunted for food at night. I took washing out to the clothes line to hang up and he watched, following my return journey, head swivelling like an owl’s. At one stage I stopped to chat, but he just looked at me unblinkingly, not obliging me with any answers to my questions. At other times he drew himself up, looking more and more like a branch, his plumage already wonderfully blending into the tree. Sunday was very windy; still he sat, his feathers ruffling in the wind. On Monday morning he was gone. We feel a little bereft, silly I know, but we liked having such an exotic creature in our Claret Ash. And we do wonder where he’s gone.
Have you ever had any unusual visitors?