Empty cat and dunlin

By Dave Goulder 



South Uist – keeping low.

Crawling in the rocket range;

diligent for dunlin,

find and check nests, weigh and tag chicks

that lie motionless

like stones.

It is their defence.



My companion is a professional

and though we note

other birds,

his motto remains:

“The existence of passerines

is not to be admitted.”

He is a specialist;

for dunlin.



I find a clutch of starlings

in a stone dyke. The chicks

are filthy with nest debris.

Jim is revolted, but dutifully

weighs and tags them.

I am reprimanded.



We return to our base,

a half-ruin in the village.

Nearby is a primitive hostel

with a thatched roof, the occupants

two Germans

and a very pregnant cat.

The Germans emerge.

They are fascinated.

“We wait all day for you.

What is dunlin? Can you eat?”

There is a pause at the arrival

of a slim cat

with centrefolds.

“Oh, ja – the cat is now empty.”



In 1973 I was enlisted by a pro ornithologist I’d met on an island off the coast of Iceland the previous year. He specialised in wading birds and dunlin at that time was our most common shore bird. No man’s land on the South Uist rocket range gave us the chance to assess the predation by larger gulls.