Rain-loving heron is a study in patience

IN THESE days of slate-hopping downpours, I sometimes wonder if the heron standing on our balcony is simply brainless or if it revels in the weather. It makes no attempt to find shelter.

It stands in a high, exposed position, hunches its shoulder, assumes the profile of the Sandeman sherry advert (but without the hat) and simply seems resigned. It stands there hour after hour. It may or may not take a break and come to stare at us through a window, signalling that it would enjoy a snack. It especially enjoys chicken bones, which it swallows with gusto. But generally, its diet is fish.

Folk ask me why we continue feeding it, four years after we rescued it from ‘Death on the Forest Floor’ (surely a good title for an Agatha Christie novel). The answer is that we had no alternative but to rescue it, and now have no alternative but to feed it. Unless medical expertise advances faster than natural ageing, it will, perhaps, outlive us; grey herons can live for 24 years or more.