Different times, different world, back in the early 70,s life was simpler in some ways as not so much choice, you enjoyed the things you had and no "PC" in any sense to worry about. Things just were, not the multitude of grey there is these days.
Not sure where dad got him from but Peter was a Sabaeus, or
He was kept in the conservatory, much to my mother's dismay, and I thought it was brilliant as he seemed to love me. Peter would sit happily on my shoulder and groom my hair but if anyone came near me, especially my mother, he would stand and spit and try to swipe anyone who came to close....
My brother thought it was a great game to tease Peter until he got just a bit to close one day.... made me smile....
And then there was the incident with Robert, my school friend, from next door who walked in behind me one afternoon and Peter spun round and.... well all I can say is that Rob has very quick reactions..
Big argument between the parents again and Dad had to find somewhere else for Peter.....
Now at the same time we had this very nice Avery with loads of little finch size birds..... and Dad thought it would be an good idea to lock the birds in the back of the Avery and put Peter in the front. It seemed a logical plan for one night......
But in the morning I came down to mother storming back into the house. So I stroll outside to find Peter sitting there biting the head off one of the little birds and then calmly grabbed another and pulling its wing off and all around him were bits of bird and feather......
It would seem that Peter had torn a hole in the netting letting out the panicking birds and although I don't know how they are in the wild, watching him, it was more like he just wanted to see how they were put together rather than killing them for food.
Dad did clean up the mess this time because Mum told him he had to. I was glad about this as I cleaned out the rabbits... another story for another day.
But this is not the end of Peters story as he escaped from his next home and ended up in the local newspaper as he had gotten into the rafters of the Cobham Road bus depot, now a transport museum, where it took staff and reporters a couple of days to catch him..
Don't know where Peter ended up but my father told me that he had escaped again and was found climbing on a ship in the port of Felixstowe that was heading back to Africa but I don't know if that's the truth or he was just being kind. So I do think of him sometimes.... mostly in the mornings when my hair is a mess....
Never really felt the need for a pet... maybe this was because of all the animals we had or because of my fathers, sometimes, illogical viewpoint on what a pet was... As he liked to have things but, apart from the horses, get someone else to look after them or maybe its because of when he thought he would toughen us up by cooking my sisters pet turkey for us for Christmas.
My father was not in any way a bad man he was just from an old farming family and values were as different in his day to mine as mine are to today.
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