Chipping Norton, Oxfordshire June 2011
This is Rory, and his crow Bugde, who “fell out of his nest” a couple of weeks back.
“He’s just a baby,” Rory explains, in a deep voice which contrasts with his youthful looks.
Why Budge? “Cos he keeps budgin’ about on my shoulder. Do you want to hold him?”
This is Rory, and his crow Bugde, who “fell out of his nest” a couple of weeks back.
“He’s just a baby,” Rory explains, in a deep voice which contrasts with his youthful looks.
Why Budge? “Cos he keeps budgin’ about on my shoulder. Do you want to hold him?”
Budge hops onto the back of my hand and seems to be quite happy to be there, craning his head around to look at me and with his jet black eyes. I stroke his head feathers, feeling his small fragile skull beneath.
“Do you want to feed him?” Rory asks, reaching into the pocket of his combat trousers.
I imagine he’s got some worms or maggots in there, but he pulls out a small plastic bag of what I assume is dried cat food. I take one and offer it to Budge, who gently clasps it in his beak, tips his head back and swallows it. I give him a few more and then hand him back to Rory.
“I’ve always wanted to own a bird,” I say, but somehow the words ‘bird’ and ‘own’ don’t fit together in the same sentence.
“Do you want to feed him?” Rory asks, reaching into the pocket of his combat trousers.
I imagine he’s got some worms or maggots in there, but he pulls out a small plastic bag of what I assume is dried cat food. I take one and offer it to Budge, who gently clasps it in his beak, tips his head back and swallows it. I give him a few more and then hand him back to Rory.
“I’ve always wanted to own a bird,” I say, but somehow the words ‘bird’ and ‘own’ don’t fit together in the same sentence.
A Murder of Guevaras? Rory also turns out to be the first of my Che Guevara t-shirt project, which currently stands at 31, hence the collective term.
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