Well, it’s been a while since I’ve posted about everyone’s favourite golden oldie and her faithful familiar, so I though it might be time to share another great episode of The Molly and Benji show.
Surprisingly, she’s been pretty quiet on the weather front recently (at least she hasn’t said too much to me. It may be another story for TMM who sees her more regularly than I do). In previous years, she’s lamented mightly at the heat, exlaiming tirelessly about how “it’s too warm to do anything”, “can barely breath in this weather” and “it’s not good to be this warm!” with a furious furrowing of her brow and a proper sulky lower lip. This time round however, we’ve barely heard a peep. True she’s been living her best life in a skimpy vest and fantastically flowery skirt, and she doesn’t expend any effort trying to mountineer up the stairs anymore, but I am rather admonished that she’s adapted to this heatwave so well.
Now regardless of the time of year, she is prone to throwing wide the front/back door (her house is strangely sideways so I’m not 100% what it’s classed as) when she gets up at about 2 in the afternoon and then not shutting it til it’s properly dark. In the winter this only really allows about 3 hours of fresh air to circulate, but with these long summer nights, she gets a good breeze and an influx of blue bottles wafting through and keeping her (and us) both cool and mildly irritated for a good long while. However, it was this practive that led to a somewhat problematic event a few weekends ago.
After spending most of the morning completing general grown up chores and slobbing about in the sun, we’d decided to nip to Go Outdoors and pick up a couple of cheap and cheerful deck chairs. Seeing as Molly’s was on the way out (and it was well past 12pm) we stopped by, only to find the door shut and resolutely locked. After peering through the window to check she was comfortably ensconced in her downstairs bed and that we could see her breathing (just to be on the safe side) we decided we’d try again after our shopping trip. It was only as we were leaving that I noticed the sad little pile of feathers and fluff curled up on the lawn. At the time, we only made a brief mental note to move the dead bird on our way back and thought nothing else of it. Oh, if only we’d read the signs…
An hour or so later, two deck chairs and a new bra better off, we returned to Molly’s with a skip in our step. Pulling the car in, we noted the door was now wide open and at the sound of the closing car doors, Benji (the deaf dog) bounded up the garden with unexplainable enthuasism for a dog his age and shepherded us towards the house. As we rounded the corner, picture, if you will, a scene of complete and utter chaos. The room was like a bomb scene, only it appeared the bomb was a pigeon. In the middle of all this catastrophic feather strewn mess stood Molly, a sheepish smile on her face.
“I think Benji’s been a naughty boy.”
TMM and I shared a look and a matching high pitched faux giggle tinged with hysteria.
“So it would seem.”
She, already mostly bent double, reached down to pick up a tuft of downy grey feathers and side eyed us.
“I honestly didn’t hear a thing last night. I came in this morning and saw it but couldn’t really face sorting it out quite yet…Do you think maybe-?”
Spurred into action by her querulous query and Benji’s frantic barrelling round the room (until walked, he’s basically the Tasmanian Devil), we lept into action. TMM liberated the dustpan and brush from where she was, completely iniffiently, trying to brush the detritus. Hilariously, she kept shovelling things up and then whirling round so quickly that everything she’d manged to pick up would lift on the gust she’d created and flutter back to the floor. He corralled her gently whilst picking up some of the bigger clumps of bird whilst I battled with her ancient vacuum cleaner (after having to dive to the floor behind the sofa and plug it in before she did herself a mischief trying to reach for the socket) to try and get as much of the remaining carnage off the carpet. Meanwhile, she and Benji succeeded in getting thoroughly in the way, gently careening off all available surfaces whilst murmuring helpful platitudes (Molly) and yelping excitedly (Benji).
One of my favourite highlights of the whole situation was her high pitched and fervent repeated insistance that “at least it’s not dirty” whilst blindly ignoring the splotches of guano splattered across everything. Thankfully we got most of it up, but I did have to turn away and giggle into my hand silently and somewhat overwroughtly every time she said it and TMM’s eyebrows got closer and closer to his hairline. I nearly lost it all together when she said, in a tone that brooked absolutely no argument “the bird will be okay though, won’t it? I imagine it will have made it out and flown off” and TMM slipped silently off to flip the aforementioned corpse over the fence before coming back and agreeing that it had probably survived just fine.
After about 15 minutes of damage control, the majority of the room was cleaned and she drew our attention the figurines on the window sill which she believed had been knocked over by the erstwhile birdie. In front of said window is a huge wooden chest on spindly little legs that Benji likes to lie prostrate on like a lion and watch the sheep in the field over. Shuffling towards it like Yoda on a mission, she started tugging on the thing and images of her squashed flat like a pensioner pancake flashed in front of our eyes. Before she managed to get a proper hold, TMM took charge and wrestled it out of her grasp. After much ferreting about and shoving of Benji, who is by this point almost apoplectic at having to have been forced to wait so long, the figurines were retrieved and inspected for damage (minor and fixable you’ll be pleased to know). Finally happy that everything was as good as it could be, TMM went out to the bin to disgard the final bundle of feathers and Molly hustled over to me. She wrapped her arms around what I think she thought was my waist, but was in fact my upper thighs, and headbutted me affectionately in the crotch, burbling happily about how grateful she was. I hugged her back as best I was able and by the time TMM had come back and wrangled Benji onto his lead, she’d decided she was done with her display of emotion and sent us on our way.
Since then, we’ve thankfully had a grand total of 0 bird related incidents, though the front/back door remains firmly open, and she’s forgotten about the possible fate of the poor pigeon. Benji remains as unconcerned about the whole thing as it’s possible for a dog to be and it must be said that, as much as they might be a menace of the highest order, they do sometimes warm my heart.