It could have been a scene played out on the Serengeti plains. A predator stealthily utilising its ecosystem’s arid grasses and flora to mask their slow and steady approach toward unsuspecting prey.
Becoming aware of its quarry around 20 metres away, the predator swiftly determining a strategy of attack. There was no swiftness in the advance towards the intended victim, though, the hunter’s adagio steps were almost pedestrian in their movement. The attacker determined not to rush things and in so doing clumsily tip off an oblivious target to the jeopardy it faced.
At this juncture, the prey nonchalantly grazing on the grasses, unaware it may not end a day it started. Incognisant that shortly it may never see its family again. To quote from Monty Python’s parrot sketch, he could soon have “… shuffled off his mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleeding choir invisible!”
Footnote – Not that I know if the prey was a he. As you will find out shortly when I reveal the main protagonists in this incident, it isn’t easy to see the quarry’s genitalia from a distance. And I, for one, had no intention of endeavouring to make this a more informed piece by checking from close quarters. Consequently, while the scene played out, I remained blissfully ignorant as to the targets sex.
Incidentally, I realised as the plot progressed it was in my power to stop any potential bloodshed and death. However, like a rubber-necking driver gawping at a car wreckage, I was inquisitive as to how this episode would progress. Consequently, I didn’t intervene.
Please don’t judge me, though. After all, David Attenborough’s groundbreaking production team never step in to stop a lion mauling a gazelle while filming his wildlife documentaries!… Although admittedly the camera crew would face more danger quelling a lion kill than yours truly putting a halt to proceedings which yesterday played out in front of me.
Not that I witnessed a lion stalking a gazelle on the Serengeti plains. No this natural world landscape was my beagle Bella stalking a pigeon in yours truly’s front garden, The West Yorkshire suburbs, not African regions within Tanzania and Kenya.
Incidentally, I’d like it on record, if it had been a cat surreptitiously pursuing a bird, I’d have shoo’d the feline away. After all, there’d have been a far higher chance of bloodshed and avian slaughter had Tiddles been in on the act.
However, never witnessing a dog stalk a bird, and judging there was more chance of Wily E Coyote catching Roadrunner than my hound’s predatory mission proving successful, in my intrigue I pruriently watched on.
Although clearly not a moggy, Bella certainly had all the stalking moves employed by the Felidae family. When first witnessing the bird from a distance, she immediately concealed herself behind a large lilac bush.
Now lying in wait she peered between the lilac branches, later using similar fortitude to circumnavigate the forsythia bush and cordyline’s cloaking herer from her prey.
Adopting a pose similar to a gun dog when in a similar predatory situations, her body straightened so that head, spine and tail formed horizontally pointing pose. One of her front paws lifted and curved into an effeminate looking stance uber camp dancer Louis Spence would have been proud of.
Slowly, using the pronounced steps similar to a dressage pony, she transitioned closer to the pigeon, coming to a momentary rest with the forsythia bush now cloaking her from the target. The oblivious bird intermittently pecking on a patch of pebbles housing bedding plants tubs; navigating the pots with trademark bobbing head.
Luckily for Bella, pigeons aren’t overly fazed by humans, otherwise a passing neighbour who afforded us a friendly verbal greeting may have scared it off, prematurely ending her bird hunt. The avian was momentarily distracted from its pecking by the salutation, but soon returning to the job in hand.
At this juncture, the beagle continued to slowly sneak toward her target, like Shere Khan creeping through the reeds prior to his attack on Mowgli, in the Jungle Book.
As we stood moments from the episodes denouement, an audience of a blackbird, a neighbours dog at the window and a plethora of border shrubs had gathered to bear witness… Well, the plants were already there, they’d not gathered; bloody hell, I’m not growing triffids in my front yard!
Seconds later Bella, now screened by the cordylines, stood hidden only a matter of three feet from the pigeon I’d named Archie. A nickname bequeathed because its back seemed more arched than fellow Columbideas.
Another neighbour passed, looking on bemused as I put a finger to my mouth in a shushing motion. He also, no doubt, wondering why I was commentating with whispered BBC English pronunciation, a la David Attenborough, at something occurring in my garden.
As requested, the neighbour made no verbal acknowledgement; merely a nod of the head and a fleeting wave of recognition as he passed.
At this juncture, with me conflicted over whether I should stop Bella’s pursuit by shooing the pigeon away, my furry sidekick emerged from behind the cordyline plant. Now out in the open, her hesitation at continuing hinted she’d neither the heart, agility and wherewithal to carry out the kill.
Gaining awareness of her predator’s presence the prey took flight, clearing the three foot brick wall and heading towards Church Street. The brick structure stopping the dog in her tracks. The dithering mutt now deciding to pursue her quarry ‘after the horse had bolted’.
If the local paper covered this story, the headlines would no doubt have read something like ‘Beagle Hesitancy Results In Archie’s D’ Triomphe’.
There was a potential twist in the tale, though, when later in the day I walked Bella along Church Street. During this amble I noticed a pigeon of Archies stature and spine deformity flattened on the road. I don’t know if it was Archie, but if it was his good fortune hadn’t lasted long.
Incidentally, as Bella can’t drive a car, I’m exonerating my hapless pet from any part in the pigeon’s demise.
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