birds

I love birds.  I love the way they look, their freedom and their sounds.  Well, I love most birds.  I could do without the one who takes up residence outside my bedroom window at 4:42AM almost EVERY morning with her horrible screeching caw caw caw- and no, it's not a crow, it's not a lovely little English songbird, it's not a goldfinch (or any other finch for that matter)- in fact, despite having a relatively wide repertoire of bird calls and caws on file- I cannot, after almost 3 years identify the unknown heckler.  Seriously now, if I had a clear shot of the little warbler I'd- well, I don't have a clear shot- I can't even see her (it has to be a her- no other sex on earth is so persistent).


So. Birds.  I like them. A lot.  I have artwork of birds.  I have a tattoo of a bird.  I even used to own a bird.  I was 7 and it was a stinking cockatoo called 'TJ' (after me).  To be honest I don't know whatever happened to her (him?) but I didn't miss it when it was no longer in the house.  Bet mum didn't either.  Unlike a cat a bird isn't cuddly.  Unlike a dog a bird doesn't appear to be loyal.  Like a small child they need to be constantly monitored when let loose and cannot be around open doors (opportunities to escape for freedom) or windows (likewise).


In Richmond we have a rather large flock of wild parakeets (perhaps it's several flocks- perhaps it's the same ones playing sillybuggers with us humans)- and I like to call them 'posh sparrows'.  When I first arrived in the UK I spotted a few at Kew Gardens- but since then I've discovered they aren't so specific- they're apparently all over the UK- and particularly West London.  Hmmm.

Birds are everywhere...

 ...in the tree down the road (taken from my kitchen window with a zoom lens)...

...awaiting the recycling...

...and on my mum's deck...her Sunday morning deck surprise.  

Brown bird and a red tipped black bird.  

(I wonder who won?)

Birds do all sorts of interesting things.  They make strange holes in strange places to be filled with strange creatures... 

 

(mouse in the Woodpecker's hole)

The handiwork of this hole was completed over the course of about five years by mum's nemesis the Glenmore WOODPECKER!  She heard it, she watched it, she saw the devastation it caused her apricot tree (although she didn't feel any particular affection for the tree she was mightily pissed off when she heard or saw evidence that the GW had been!)... At least it's been made into some useful purpose aside from just being a hole in an old tree.  A proper house for a mouse.  Safe from cats, barking dogs that look like cats- and the grounds keeper!

Must say- that's a mighty bold mouse! Bless him.

ttfn

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