morning in hibernia

Morning at the Chateau de Healy.
A sound of great perturbation fills the ancient hallways.
I hear it but dimly from my bed where I am ensconced in a mound of blankets.
The world could end and I wouldn't stir.
They'd have to send a few Archangels to drag me out.
Now I hear footsteps and shouting.
Ah yes.
The sounds of a primordial Doctor Barn on the rampage.
The shouting grows clearer.
Warm and untroubled, I attend amusedly upon the following tirade:
"It's that xxxxing robin again. It's after sh---ing everywhere. James has the place turned into a zoo. Get out. Get out. You stupid bird. Get out. Fly out the window damn you. If you can fly up and down the hall for a cr-p you can just as easily fly out the xxxxing window."
Presently I hear a softer voice.
It is my little nephew Brian.
He is saying: "Daddy, is that Santa's robin."
Doctor Barn's rampage stops as suddenly as it began.
"Er yes Brian," he says, "I suppose it is."
There is silence.
I fancy I can hear a few last wingbeats as Robin lets him know who's boss.
Then.
"He's gone Daddy."
"He is Brian."
"He's gone back to Santa."
"Er, yes, yes he is."
The door of my room opens.
The goodish Doctor hisses something he doesn't want my little nephew to hear.
It sounds distinctly like:
"You and your xxxxing robins. I suppose you have the bloody hedgehog under the bed."
The door closes.
I roll over in the blankets and absently address a few words of comfort to the hedgehog who naturally enough is curled up in a ball in a corner of the room.
"Don't mind him Harvey," I murmur. "He hasn't a clue about the important things in life."