I have Nesbit’s favourite food here … I’m going to leave a little bit on each of these perches …’ Old Man Burgess continued to provide information about sea eagles as he walked the length of the arena placing what looked like bits of mince on each post. Nesbit was watching him closely and the audience was watching Nesbit, the children were enthralled. Old Man Burgess explained carefully what would happen next.
‘When I give the command Nesbit will fly to each perch in turn and then return to me here and that’s when you give him a … big round of applause.’
Old Man Burgess gave a whistle and right on cue Nesbit took to the sky. He was impressive in full flight and a few oohs went up from the crowd as his vast wingspan propelled him across the arena, narrowly missing a few spectators near the edge. They all watched Nesbit get higher and higher with each rhythmic thrust of his wings and also further and further away as he flew out of the arena.
Daisy leaned into Tamsyn and whispered. ‘Was he meant to do that?’
‘I don’t think so,’ came her hushed response.
Muttering spread throughout the crowd as Nesbit became smaller and smaller.
Old Man Burgess cleared his throat. ‘Well, I’m afraid ladies and gentlemen … that’s the end of the falconry display but don’t forget Percy Winkle’s … racing ferrets will be in this arena in about half an hour’s time. Thank you.’ There was a final screech from the speakers and a smattering of weak applause. Daisy clutched her sides finally giving in to the laughter.
‘That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.’
She had to pull herself together because Old Man Burgess was making a bee-line for them but she had a few minutes to compose herself given the speed he was walking. ‘’Allo Tamsyn, ’ow are you?’
‘Very well, thanks, Mr Burgess. I’m sorry about Nesbit. Will he come back?’ asked Tamsyn, anxiously biting her lip.
‘Don’t worry about Nesbit. He’s a little bugger, for sure, but he’ll be back when he’s … hungry. We’re still training him, my son and I. Still hopeful of releasing him one day.’
‘Around here?’ said Daisy rather loudly as she visualised what it might be like for a fish eagle to steal your chips or, worse still, poo on you from a great height.
‘No, no, no,’ chuckled Mr Burgess. ‘Isle of Mull, Scotland.’
‘Good. We have enough trouble here with the seagulls.’ She gave a grin but no one else was smiling. ‘Does he do this often?’ asked Daisy, trying hard to look serious.
‘Yes. He does bugger off quite a bit actually. But it could have been … worse.’ Mr Burgess nodded wisely.
Daisy looked about her, there were a lot of disappointed faces and no eagle. ‘How could it be worse?’ she asked and Tamsyn shot her a look.
‘I once took him to a fête near Lyme Regis and they had a local owl … sanctuary there with the wee little owls all tethered to perches. Nesbit took to the air but … this time he went for one of the little owls. Tore it to shreds he did in front of the kiddies.’ Old Man Burgess was shaking his head and Daisy and Tamsyn were both looking wide-eyed and terrified. It was an image Daisy would struggle to erase.
In the few days since the village fête Daisy had become restless. The wanderlust was kicking in, as it always did, and she felt the need to get away. So much so she even offered to take the dog for a walk before she went to bed.
‘Thanks,’ said Aunt Coral, grimacing as she lowered her sprained ankle onto a floral cushion. It wasn’t improving at the speed Daisy would have liked. She wanted to leave Ottercombe Bay as soon as possible, but she couldn’t leave Aunt Coral when she was still hobbling about.
‘No problem,’ called Daisy, clipping the dog’s lead onto Bugsy’s collar. ‘Have a rest while I’m gone. Bye,’ added Daisy and she made steps to leave. Bugsy had other intentions. Daisy realised he wasn’t planning on going with her when she found she was dragging the reluctant dog up the hall.
‘Come on, Bugsy, let’s go walkies,’ she trilled. Bugsy stared unblinking at her, his giant dark eyes fixed on hers. Daisy gave a gentle pull on the lead but Bugsy stayed put. Daisy bent down to the small dog and put out her fingers so he could take in her scent. She guessed he was still missing Reg and having this stranger in the house was probably confusing for him. He sniffed Daisy’s proffered hand of goodwill and sneezed his response all over it.
‘Oh, come on,’ hissed Daisy, losing her patience and wiping her hand down her jeans. She was met by the same stare of defiance. Daisy stared back. She tugged on the lead and the stocky little dog slid along the polished floor on his bum but as he met the rough surface of the doormat he found his feet and trotted outside.
‘Huh,’ said Daisy with great satisfaction mentally marking up a point each on the imaginary scoreboard. She hoped that would be the end of it, that Bugsy would now see who was boss. It was the least he could do, if it wasn’t for her he wouldn’t be going for a walk at all – he could show a little gratitude.
It was a warm July evening, with a clear starry sky. The first few minutes of their stroll were uneventful until Bugsy bobbed down on a small patch of grass, gave Daisy a superior look before turning his back and straining hard.
‘No!’ yelled Daisy frantically checking her pockets for the poo bags she knew weren’t there. Daisy searched about her. It was getting dark; perhaps she could just walk away and leave Bugsy’s little deposit? But at that moment someone came around the corner a few feet away. Bugsy spotted them too and made a big show of scuffing up the grass and inadvertently his own deposit. There was little Daisy could do but watch as the piece of poo flew through the darkness and disappeared.
‘Hello, Daisy,’ said the over-friendly policeman.
‘Hi Jason.’
She had never felt quite so guilty as she did right now. The orange sign on the lamppost, stating the maximum penalty for dog fouling was £1000, was at head height with Jason and was not helping one little bit.
‘You okay?’ he asked.
‘Yes, of course,’ said Daisy, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. She tried to keep one eye on him whilst attempting to locate the errant piece of poo. An excruciating silence followed where Jason bobbed his head encouragingly as if expecting Daisy to say something – or was he expecting a full confession? He couldn’t prove the poo was Bugsy’s, she’d deny everything. ‘You, um, on the late shift tonight?’ she said, sounding a lot like Aunt Coral and wondering how long it would be before she was shopping at Marks and Spencer.
‘I should have finished half an hour ago but someone thought they saw Nesbit on the church spire. It was just a very large seagull. Would you like me to walk with you?’ He pointed towards the beach.
‘No, it’s okay. We’re on our way home now, thanks. We’ve been out ages,’ she lied, shooting a look at Bugsy just in case he had a canine way of contradicting her.
‘Oh, okay,’ said Jason, looking thoroughly disappointed.
‘Another
