Some months ago a drake, like other birds of prey, found refuge in a sheltered patch on the Marsa golf course. His choice was excellent. The golf club, besides being a private domain, is a protected area, a peaceful paradise.

It also has rivulets of water and large wading ponds. The jetted water sprinklers add freshness to the fairways, the greens and the brush where eucalyptus trees grow tall and oleander bushes are obstacles to stray balls.

Drake, the creature we nicknamed Wiżżu, had a peculiar boisterous gait: he danced from side to side in the heavy rhythm of his ambling poise. He forced a guttural greeting and flapped his wings as if taking off. Changing his mind, he ran towards us yearning for caresses and titbits as well. We fed him on fragments of biscuits and he pecked with relish, nodding his head.

He remained there for months on end in expectation of a life of leisure as golfers in retirement would want.

The other morning he was nowhere to be seen.

We were worried sick and asked the groundsmen for him. They merely turned blank faces. We searched in case he had chosen another abode.

We waited and hoped for his welcome reappearance. This was not to be. He had vanished into thin air. Our hearts went out in grief.

Did he succumb to female charm? Did a female friend entice him into the freedom of the skies?

We all hoped so!

Yet, dark shades of doubt crossed our perturbed minds.

Surely no night intruder dared to sneak into a guarded domain where, like knights of old, golfers all carrying irons and clubs, would protect an endearing pet.

Had the sanctum sanctorum of flora and fauna been breached? Has the most hideous crime been committed at the dead of night?