Poor bedraggled magpie. Yeah, I said it, and I’ll say it again. I felt sorry for him, and all the birds (except the dirty, dirty pigeons) on this wet saturday. It’s pissing rain, as the Queen would say, and my overfilled bird feeder has been the hot spot of the neighbourhood. I awoke to the sight (and ear-piercing sound) of a thoroughly soaked magpie, a young one I think, standing on the rail in a little puddle of it’s own making, waiting impatiently for breakfast. I obliged, and even shelled the nuts because his dripping, messed-up feathers really got to me. Even now, a bluejay is picking through the seed, it’s crown askew, looking altogether miserable. Love to invite them in for a towel-off and a warm beverage, but the C.A.T. might be problematic. Hard to say, she hasn’t budged from couch all day. I know the feeling. No walks in the foreseeable future. S’posed to rain like this for the rest of the weekend. Guess I’ll stay inside and shell a few more peanuts.