The dance lessons were not working. This, sadly, was the first thought that went through my mind as I gazed down at the forest floor. Oh yes, my little boy, the brightest and gaudiest of last years brood, hopping, arching, extending first one wing then the other. All to no avail, all the hens were watching him, you could see the smiles wrinkling their nostrils in snorts of derision as they shyly turned their laughing heads away, beaks wide open, as if catching fruit flies. It was no good him having lovely iridescent blue wings and orange and crimson breast if he couldn’t do the dance I had spent so long trying to teach him. Oh well, no mate for him, no little grand chicks for me this year. Lessons begin again in the morning.