Christmas Is for the Birds

"Did you know the 12 Days of Christmas are actually the days after Christmas?," my encyclopedic husband asked me just the other day. 

I suppose I'd heard that, but I didn't think much about it. I murmured something as we drove along. He took this as encouragement to continue.

"I think it's supposed to be the days between Christmas and the Epiphany." 

"Yes, that would make sense," I replied. I thought the topic was closed, but some time later, he took it up again.

 "Just what are you supposed to do with a partridge in a pear tree?," queried Mr. Ginley.

"Well, we have a little room in the backyard," says me. "I suppose we could plant the pear tree there."

"Not the tree, the partridge. Do they fly? Wouldn't the neighbors report us?," he continued.

(As it turns out, some partridges fly, but they'd rather run or walk.)

"I imagine we'd roast it for dinner." Problem solved. 

"And what are calling birds," my inquisitive spouse persisted. What's with all the the birds, anyway?" 

All good questions, I suppose. What makes a French hen special? Does it cluck "ooh la la?" Turns out, it's just a fancy egg-layer. A chicken by any other name. A turtle dove is a British pigeon, which was tasty fare in the Middle Ages. 

"Calling birds" was a poorly translated version of "colly birds" – colly meaning black. So blackbirds. Which do sing, I suppose, but they aren't canaries or anything. 

Blackbirds weren't generally dinner fare, but, like the nursery rhyme "Sing a Song of Six Pence" chronicled, they were shoved into a pie crust which was cut open at the dinner table. The live birds would create mayhem, and the guests were allegedly amused. It's all fun and games unless you're the maid, who got her nose pecked off.

But I digress. 

Geese-a-laying and swans-a-swimming are pretty straightforward. As to the practicality of these gifts, again, I'm pretty sure the neighbors would call the local constabulary on us. Geese are pooping machines, as we all know, causing a mess wherever they go. And there's no place to go a-swimming for swans, so that's one gift that would be going back.

In an odd twist, the song transitions from birds to humans, pausing only to croon "five gold(en) rings." 

Inexplicably, the order changes from version to version. In my head, I hear:

12 Lords-a-Leaping

11 Ladies Dancing

10 Pipers Piping

9 Drummers Drumming

8 Maids-a-Milking

...whilst others have given the order as: 

12 Drummers Drumming

11 Pipers Piping

10 Lords a-Leaping

9 Ladies Dancing

8 Maids a-Milking

In any case, one wonders how these gifts would be delivered. Do they arrive in a bus? Do the performers get paid scale? Do the maids bring their own cows?

Oh well. I'm unlikely to ever receive any of these gifts, anyhow. 

And for that, I count my blessings.

Photo attribution: Title page from the first known publication of "The 12 days of Christmas" in 1780