Partridge Pie

Photo by Juanita Swart on Unsplash

I am driving home after a busy day. Isn't it strange how, when you are in a rush everything you encounter will turn out to test your patience?

It is as if you have to hide the fact that you are in a hurry in order to keep karma from testing your patience. 

After successfully worming through the traffic I hit the home stretch. A 5,2 km gravel road. Perhaps at this time, I need to mention that the last part is full of obscure obstructions. If it isn't the three potholes greeting you as you turn off the main road, there is a possibility you hit a donkey. Well depends on the time of day. Apparently, this one is nocturnal. 

For today I seem to be in the clear. The alcoholic neighbour's dog must have finally fled because he isn't chasing me today. It could be that the dust my new tires are kicking up is leaving him blind in a dust cloud. 

It seems like Jerry, the manic driver is already home as I haven't met him on my journey home yet. Let's hope I am spared from another chipped windscreen this time. 

Racing around the corner at the 2,6km mark before I reach home, my eye catches a family of partridges. The only two figures that really stand out are the mom and dad. On closer inspection, the six black dust bunnies rolling over the sand is really their offspring. 

I brake hard. I close my eyes. Boom. Splash. Some other censored words are uttered. I just made a widow and left six chicks fatherless. 

What do I do? If only Spot the dog was following me. I could blame it on him, or at least make this innocent, unnecessary killing worth it. 

I don't feel french enough to make a partridge pie. 

O my. I wish I could just close my eyes and when I open it, have the clock turned back in time.