Henpecked

The other day, I was playing a game of Word Twist on Face Book and listening to a bit of Goldfrapp, when something caught my ear. A kind of clucking, chirping noise sounded regularly between the phrases of Ride A White Horse. I thought my ancient CD player had finally given up the ghost (I'm desperately waiting for it to break so I can get a new one), but then I realised that the sound wasn't coming from the stereo, but from somewhere else. It almost sounded like it was outside the back door. 

I heaved myself off my arse, switched off the stereo and had a look out of the dining room window. There below me, perched on the path facing the back door, was Beaky. It was him chirping away plaintively, knowing I was in having seen the light on.  

I'd already chopped up some sultanas and half unlocked the back door before I realised what I was doing. Beaky obviously had me in some kind of thrall using his insidious mind powers. Ah, well, I thought, I was up now. So I opened the door and dropped the dried fruit just outside in front of the diabolical bird. He started pecking up the succulent morsels as soon as they hit the ground, but didn't get through half of them before he, and I, were rudely interrupted. 

Mrs Beaky came tearing up, screeching and wailing - If she had teeth, I'm sure she'd have been gnashing them. A small whirlwind of feathers, beaks and claws almost took out my ferns before Beaky departed, harried on by his shrill wife. She quickly scoffed the remaining sultanas, glared at me (I did my very best not to flinch), then tore off after him. 

Poor Beaky. I'm almost of the opinion that I should have let him in the house to be out of her reach...