Dood!

Wal is a dude. He’s the man. But, he’s a little over-invested in this building business. At last count he’s constructed five apartments (sorry, nests) of which two have been rubbished, one’s currently unoccupied and two inhabited by the fractious dames I mentioned earlier. But I think he’s up for it. Our boy is something of a peacock too. This is the kind of guy who’s going to drive around the ‘burbs in a convertible Saab, or quite possibly an Aston Martin, Wayfarers perched on his beak, feathers rippling in the wind. Cherchez les femmes, and all that.
Wally wears Boss.
So he’s got all the stuff. Having said that, I’m not so sure of his prowess as a lover. He is most definitely not going to woo anybody. To be frank, he’s a tad over-anxious; with all his attributes there should be a whole flock of eager young things queuing up for his attentions. But no. A few days ago, it was abundantly obvious that the sap had risen, and one of the girls was obliging. So he shook what his momma gave him, fluffed out his tail feathers and got frisky.
And fell off.
I kid you not. The little bugger was in the zone, hammering away like a woodpecker (who are notorious in the bird world as adopting a kind of avian ‘wham-bang-thank-you-mam’ tactic to the delicate art of love) and plop. All fall down.
He—and she for that matter—fell off their perch and disappeared in either shame, embarrassment (or both) into the undergrowth. Who wouldn’t? Thankfully, that’s one faux pas that’s eluded me. So far.
I laughed like a drain. Who wouldn’t?