Glorious Twelfth??

This afternoon, my friend Steve and I went up to Fraserburgh to get some messages and we had an ice-cream at the beach.
On the way back, we saw this fellow in the deer park.
I have blipped him before but not like this.
He is looking a bit scruffy as he is losing the velvet that covers his antlers.
Today is the 12th of August or the Glorious Twelfth as some people call it.
This is the start of the grouse shooting season.
Steve wrote this poem a few years ago and he gave me permission to use it today.
It seems very appropriate.

Glorious Twelfth

Glory, Glory, twelfth of August,
Shout Hosannas if you must,
Or grouse about the weather
Or the beaters
Or the heather,
While around you other grouses beat the dust,
And hares, and pheasants, and rabbits and almost
everything that moves.

Glory, Glory, twelfth of August,
What a day of celebration,
For the owners of the moors and the gillies
And the boors
Whose sport is causing death and mutilation
To the grouse, and hares and pheasant and rabbits
and almost everything that moves.

Gory, Gory, twelfth of August,
What a bloody way to die,
Shot by our leaders and our betters
And our nouveau riche
Trend-setters
Who decry man's inhumanities, and wonder why.
Why not ask the grouse, or hares, or pheasants or
rabbits or anything left that moves?


Sent from my iPad