I have seen my first badger. It was bound to happen some time. I’ve been agitating about the matter for the last couple of years, going up to complete strangers in the public library – the nearest I get to a party – and saying: “D’you know, I’ve never seen a badger.”
Well, now I have seen one and, though the encounter was brief, it did not disappoint. It was early evening, and I was waddling along to Swanky Towers to water the plants, while Mr and Mrs Swanky were abroad on yet another holiday. I have my uses: cat-feeding, fence repairs, plant-watering, journalism, eaves-painting, philosophical consultancy. It’s all there on my business card.
My route took me past the pond at the bottom of the suburban hill. The road here is quite busy and, across the other side, I witnessed this black-and-white creature looking right, left and right again before scuttling half-way across.
I say “half-way” because it was at that point the he spotted the hero of this tale – me, madam, do try to keep up – and promptly turned around, muttering “Drat” and “Bother” and “Rotten humans” to himself.
I could see his head in the foliage, eying me with what I thought was a lack of respect, and soon, naturally, I started talking a load of couthie nonsense at him, calling him peerie this, that and the next thing, and enjoining him to come out and get to know me better. At which point he did a complete runner.
Bit of a shame really. But at least I could cross him off my list. Must be a good sign too, if badgers have arrived on the hill from who knows where and are managing to make a living (having decided, luckily, to avoid journalism).
I even entertained hopes that this might be the very fellow who has been sleeping in my backgarden. Something has. I don’t want to alarm you, but there is no way round this other than to state the bald facts: something has been flattening my montbretias.
It’s probably the place where a fox lays down his weary head. I took the anti-cat netting down a couple of weeks ago, as I thought potential house-buyers might be disturbed by it, and, ever since, beasties have been blundering in, clearly chuffed that the public lavatories are open again.
It’s lucky too that the badger has taken up residence on a suburban hill, rather in the countryside, where people will want to kill it for fun, there being nothing much else to do beyond tailgating cars and burning wicker statues. All the same I ain’t naming the hill as there are some right nutters round here too.
Badgers are shy animals so I do wonder what this one was doing heading for the bright lights. Probably looking for dropped chips and pieces of vegetarian sausage roll: another good reason to head for my house.
I’m assuming he lives in the woods beside the hill, a place wherein I am wont to waddle myself. Maybe I’ll bump into him again and, gradually, he’ll get used to me, thinking: “Och, it’s just yon beardie galoot. The Swankies must be away on holiday again. Still, at least he has his uses.”
