Orlando

My luxury time at our stables was to sit on the concrete outside the office in the morning
sun after all the morning chores had been completed and the stables were ready for the
horses to return to at the end of the day.

This luxury time was used to enjoy a mug of coffee, a couple of biscuits and a book.

The book I was reading at this time was “Orlando” by Virginia Woolf. For those of you
that haven’t read this one it is about an individual finding favour with Queen Elizabeth I
who travels through time to the end of the Victorian era. It also involves, what we would
call today “gender realignment”.

One morning when I was luxuriating I became aware of a presence as if I was being
watched. I looked around the yard but didn’t see anyone or anything. Then I heard little
clicks on the corrugated iron roof of the barn opposite me. I looked up and there was a
pigeon looking down on me.
Over a few days the pigeon got bolder and would come down to the concrete I sat on. I
started to put some feed out for it and each day I put it just a little closer to where I
would be sitting. It came forward, pecked at a few crumbs and then returned to perch
on a stable door.

I was so absorbed in the pages I didn’t notice the pigeon until I felt it pecking at my
outstretched legs. I moved ever so carefully to put my book down to get a biscuit we
could share. It watched me. Its eyes glistening with trust.
We had a conversation while it looked at me.

“Orlando, that’s what your name will be, Orlando” I said trying as hard as I could not to
scare it with my excited voice.

Orlando looked up at me quizzically and then uttered a couple of coos.

Giving the pigeon a name seemed to enforce a bond between us.

As I opened the gate
to the yard each morning Orlando would be perched on a stable doors. I would be
watched closely until I finished the morning routine including having a coffee, a couple
of biscuits, putting some food out and settling down to read the book.
Orlando would watch me from my side as I turned the pages. Orlando watched me as I
finished reading the book. I closed it with a finality all avid readers have when they have
finished a good book. Orlando watched as intently as ever before returning to what had
become his or her roof.

The next day at the yard I was aware of an absence. No sensation of being watched. No
tiny clicks of avian feet on a corrugated iron roof. No Orlando watching and waiting from
one of the stable doors.

Just a solitary brown feather on the ground where we always sat together.