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The Most Curious Thing....

As I was shovelling shite this morning, a very weasely fellow sidled up behind me. When I noted his presence, his "Mr Miles?" brought my guard up instantly.

Rightly too.

He was a sniffer dog sent out by 'Tenant Services'. It appears that zeroing your rifle in your own back yard into a steel funnel pellet trap affixed securely to a concrete wall is deemed 'Unusual activity' for which ordinarily one must beg and submit for permission to engage in.
In his view.
So say, the noise and disturbance caused by my infrequent pellet tests has aroused concern from unnamed parties. I directed him to contact the plaintiffs to suggest they grow up and address their concerns to me directly. He told me "That's not how it works these days'. I regretfully agreed that he may be right.
I have been warned that my chickens need to write in and seek the councils blessing. I passed this message onto them, but I'm not entirely certain they understood. Perhaps the white one did as she spat her disdain on the floor from her back-end...

It seems also that feeding the remains of a pigeon to your dog in your back garden is a no-no...

I tidied the feathers afterwards!


Well, this evening, I perused my postage stamp kingdom through my telescopic ocular so that I may spy any invaders. Sure enough, there on my lawn feasting his fat breasts was my old adversary Mr Pujin.

I ruefully gazed, powerless to act in the manner my muscles urged. Perhaps it was the power of my concentration that did it, but all of a sudden he appeared to suffer a catastrophic aneurism! His head literally exploded before my eyes!

Dear God! Says I as I rushed to don my hat and coat. Hastily I stumbled out the door with the first aid kit and 999 pre-dialed on my mobile telephonic device.
The striken blighter was, alas, stone dead.
I sobbed inside as I carried his broken little body into my domicile. Blood was still pumping from his horrific trauma and dripping on the concrete, I made a mental note to wash the path lest any offended parties get the wrong impression!

I performed a rudimentary autopsy;






Whilst quite clearly a horrendous stroke of some description, if I were into conspiracy theories I'd be tempted to say that this was the work of a JSB Exact 8.4gr pellet sent flying at approximately 9-10ft/lbs from a Webley ValueMax .177 spring piston air rifle from around 12-15 yards at a downward 30 degree angle!

Blubbering like a little school girl, my dear lady love shushed and cradled me as I wailed and lamented at the catastrophe I had witnessed. I felt so powerless, how could God allow such terror and awfulness to befall such a fluffy feathered wonder as this. Yes the beggar was in my garden, but WHY GOD WHY!

My anguished cries most certainly prompted numerous more calls to Mr Weasel at Tenant Services, so I resolved to be rid of the evidence...


DELICIOUS!

The dog thought so too!

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