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  • Birds in my garden

    Birds in my garden
    My son had come over to do some Tai chi with me, and to distract myself from the pain in my thighs, I was looking over his shoulder at my bird feeder.
    ‘I really must sort out my tits,’ I said.  This received a lot of ‘Oh Mum!’ comments, eye rolling and silent ‘what are you like?’ sighs.
    I don’t blame him really.  I have recently become obsessed with my bird feeders.  I miss the subtitles on complicated Scandi thrillers because I’m looking out of the window, I don’t listen when people tell me important things because I’m trying to identify a small feathered friend, and I squint a lot which creates wrinkles.  But I am unrepentant.
     
    I’ve learnt a lot although I am still mystified by a lot of it.  Now, I’m not one for fat shaming, and everyone eats a bit more at Christmas, but honestly my birds ate twice what they usually eat on Christmas Day.  I put it down to it being sunny but I was shocked when we came home from spending the day with my family to find one bird feeder completely empty.  I had filled it late the previous day.  It should have lasted a lot longer than that.
    But I am a very indulgent bird feeder.  I didn’t make them do Veganuary.  They adore mealworms and I think it’s those that brought them to my feeder when it had only been up for about an hour.  I’d had feeders before, hung on a tree, but although they looked pretty they were difficult to refill.  
     
    Now the birds are much nearer to me (through the window) and give endless entertainment.  I have even (don’t judge me) started to give them nick names.  There’s Little Trotty Wagtail after a poem we read at school.  There’s Mr. Nuthatch - they’re  not even clever, literary type names – they’re on a level with people who call their cat Fluffy, but as one who’s first cat was called PooPoo it’s hardly surprising.  And of course, Mr. and Mrs. Blackbird.  I haven’t  named the tits, mostly because I’m still confused by them.
     
    The other day, to challenge myself, I waited until I’d had my own lunch before rushing out to fill the recently emptied feeder.  (There is another feeder with exactly the same worm/seed combo right there but they don’t like this feeder as much.)  I rushed my sandwich and only half ate my apple as if the bird population of my garden would starve to death if that feeder wasn’t filled instantly.
     
    But I must sort out my tits!  There are Blue Tits and there are Great Tits and then there is something which could be another sort of bird altogether, or a female Great Tit with very little yellow on her.  I’d like it to be a Black Cap.
    My son didn’t come to do Tai Chi with me the following week.  I think I’ve scared him off.  But the birds?  They’re absolutely fine!
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