The Simple Life — of tales and tails

The Simple Life
A life of freedom or pigeon pie?

A chubby woodpigeon (ring dove) sits on a nest in a fir tree just 15’ from our front door. It looks so peaceful up there surrounded by shrubs bearing blossom. We see the couple plodding around the garden — dinosaurs compared with the blackbirds, finches, tits, sparrows and tiny wrens (etc) that visit our feeding station and peck around the garden. Even larger than the lovely white and mottled pigeons that visit us throughout the year.
They sit in turn, quiet and undisturbed, oblivious to our prying eyes as we try to photograph them. Their nest looks flat and flimsy and we wonder how on earth they will be able to keep their young on it once the eggs hatch. (Likely just one or two, as they continue to breed throughout the season.)
What do they think as they sit there? No worries for them about finance and elections, buying houses and furniture. No concerns about schools for their children, what to wear and what meals are best for them. No mortgage, no bills, no cars or holidays. Just doing what comes naturally.
But we are concerned for them! We just hope the egg or eggs don’t roll out of the nest. We hope the fledglings when born won’t get taken off by crows or cats. We want them to keep well and enjoy life. Why? Birds, not just pigeons, die every day. They fly into the window and break their necks, they get taken off by birds of prey and squirrels raid their nests. But this is nature and animals are programmed for survival. What humans do to one another goes beyond survival — need I say more?

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New Homes — Something To Crow About!

Birds of a feather…
As I sit listening to the stories my husband reads to me, I watch the crows building nests in a couple of trees about a hundred yards away.
I wonder at the community gathered there. At least eight nests are under construction and it gets a little noisy at times. What are they saying to one another? All the birds are engaged in building but they don’t seem to squabble or fight. No laying down tools or flying off in a huff.
They come to our ancient beech tree and hack away at the the joints of twigs, then fly back to put another ‘brick’ in the ‘wall’ of their large constructions. There they are, safe in the tops of the tall trees and not one stopping for a fag or a cuppa. As they ‘prune’ our beech, I think to myself ‘that will be less leaves to sweep up in the autumn.’
Last year birds broke the twigs off our silver birch trees, taking them off to trees at the other end off a near-by field. I admit they made me cross. The six trees are already short of their twiggy branches. What’s more they dropped quite a few and just left them on the grass. Waste! I hate waste! The lacy twigs and branches look lovely when the buds open and small fresh green leaves tell us it is spring. They sway and rustle as the sun filters through to the daffodils below. Ah, but that is yet to come. And this year their branches are intact!
Soon we will see the smaller birds nest-building. The tits seemed to be doing that during the last sunny spell. Then all went quiet again. I worry about the little birds, especially those that sing to us. We know we have birds of prey in the area. Of course, all birds have a right to food, but I find it sad that our delicate harmless feathered friends end up as meat in a feather sandwich. Bad enough we have cat prowlers.
Soon spring will be here and the gorgeous dawn chorus will start my day in an enchanted rhapsody.

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