The Robin

It snowed heavily over the weekend, and outdoors became a veritable winter wonderland. For the cats, it was a great hunting opportunity, as the garden birds were both easily visible and stupefied by the cold.

It probably wasn’t a good idea for Bert to scatter breadcrumbs right outside the glass double doors. It’s charming to see the robin come so close to the door for its feast, but it was also close enough to make the cats acutely aware of the birds’ presence, or availability.

So, when I spotted Woody carrying a limp body in his mouth, my first fear was for the robin. But there appeared to be a long, dark dangler hanging from his jaw. A young rat. That would be all right, better than killing one of Bert’s robins.

Then Hannah’s wee dog Chico spotted it. Chico likes to bullyWoody and steal his kills. He got outside and took the little dead thing. I pulled wellies on and went out into the snowy garden to take the creature off him. It wasn’t easy persuading him to give it up. And when I did, I saw that the dangly thing wasn’t a rat’s tail. It was a long, limp bird’s leg. A robin. All bedraggled, yet unbloodied. Did Woody kill it? Or did he find it after it had perished? It might have died from the cold. I decided not to mention it to Bert and put it in the bin.

Bert was away when all this occurred, driving Hannah to work. When he got home, he went straight to the cats, both standing to attention and looking for their breakfast. He petted and stroked them both. It is funny to think how he used to dislike cats. Harry de Cat changed his mind, then Holly. He adored Holly. Big Fat Fred was another favourite. All those cats are gone now, but Bert still has a lot of time for Pippin and Woody, especially Pippin.

I was wondering why I feel less uneasy when cats kill rats rather than robins. Surely rats have as much right to existence as robins. But rats have such a bad reputation, disease, dirt and all that. That’s not entirely fair, for the wee birdies are pretty disease-ridden too, and when our cats eat them, they can pick up parasitic pests. Despite their worms and mites, I still prefer robins, wrens and goldfinches to rodents. Apart from shrew mice*. It’s so sad when the cats get them, for they are so sweet and cute, with those little pointed snouts. Adorable. Yet it feels wrong to make the distinction. Who knows where that might lead one?

Woody and Chico

Happy to report that the robin Bert was feeding by the door has survived another day. The feeding station has been moved further away.

*Not rodents, although cats don't make a distinction. They are one of the most common mammals in the British Isles.

A Life In Pictures

Teller of tall tales. The General. The Wee Manny. A Rascal. A Traveller. An Adventurer. 

It has taken me all this time to begin this post and per usual I'm drawing on one I wrote almost ten years ago. 

I went to today's funeral (the first of the year) with the Wee Manny. He arrived at our house more than an hour early all suited and booted. In our part of the world, by the time a man is in his middle age he has his funeral rig ready at all times. This outfit will consist of a dark suit, a dark tie, black if the funeral is that of a close family member and, given the Irish climate, a heavy dark overcoat.

It was a battle getting Bert to wear his suit but he allowed himself to be persuaded. The funeral suit is a much easier option than trying to find other items of dark (clean) clothing. And the dark tie is always in the inside jacket pocket.

The reason I went with The Wee was because Bert was picking Hannah up from work and the Wee and I, both being Virgos, are  particular about punctuality. We were there at least half an hour before the proceedings began. The Cuningham Memorial is very close to where I live yet this was the first time I'd ever been inside it. The interior is traditional, with heavy roof beams and beautiful stained glass. The pews are those old-fashioned ones with doors. Ours seated just three people. As always, on entering the church, I had to stop myself looking for the holy water font and in the pew I noted the absence of kneelers. Presbyterians do not kneel. At least I did not attempt to genuflect as I entered the pew. I did that once but I hope no one noticed. That was at Church of Ireland wedding so you'd almost get away with it.

As we sat in that pew I reflected that The Wee is actually my oldest friend. Not old in terms of age, but old in the length of time we've known each other. I met him nearly forty years ago and knew of his existence a few years before that. The Wee was one of the cool dudes, living mostly outside Ballymena, in London, Amsterdam and other interesting places. I first met him in Dublin while I was visiting my sister who was at Trinity College. He and I had a mutual friend and the three of us went on a pub crawl. Little did I know that The Wee and I would still know each other forty years on and that we'd go to funerals together and that we'd have spent the time before discussing our favourite baking dishes and other mundane things. He introduced me to Bert nearly thirty years ago so I expect I'll have to be friends with him forever.

Turned out forever wasn't as long as I thought it would be. Robin, you will be missed and we will be talking about about you and your exploits forever.

New Arrivals

Hannah's part of the yard is a Tanglewood of native trees, a few damsons and a large Chilean lantern tree (Crinodendron hookerianum). Obviously, birds love it and Hannah will usually see new arrivals before I do. Her bullfinches called with me today, for the first time this year and the spotted flycatchers were 'spotted' yesterday. It looks like the flycatchers won't be nesting in their usual spot above the front door. The roses got a hard pruning last autumn when we had the outside painting done. They're eyeing another site in the eaves of the long shed and hunting insects from the vantage point of my washing line. I may have mentioned before (many times) that we don't cut the grass at the front of the house anymore. 

A bullfinch in the sumach tree. The sumach is just coming into leaf and I feel slightly sad that in a few weeks time I will not have such a good view of the birds.

The spotted flycatcher on my washing line. I will not mind if it shits on my laundry.

The bullfinch and flycatcher are not the only new arrivals around here as there are lots of young birds around. Starlings, robins, wrens, jackdaws, thrushes, blackbirds, greenfinches and goldfinches and all the common tits. The sheds, trees and hedges are full of breeding birds. The swallows have arrived so they'll be making a start and I am hoping for long-eared owls again. Zoe and the girls camped in the woods last night and this morning she watched tree creepers feeding their young as she lay in her sleeping bag.

A young robin.

Fagin & O'Farrell

Both these novels were set in Edinburgh, where both authors now live although O'Farrell was, according to Wikipedia, born in Coleraine only a mile or twenty down the road from here. 

Luckenbooth was a brilliant read, and not at all what I expected. Highly recommended for those who like a bit of horror laced with magic realism.

I was slightly disappointed by The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox. There was something dislikeable about every character with the exception of Esme and even she did not seem fully realised. 

The next book up was another Maggie O'Farrell on loan from Zoe. I've barely begun it.

The too-read pile has got higher still. Charity shops are open again and I visited the Oxfam shop on Wellington Street. It has the best book donations in town. I bought a Matt Haig, a David Sedaris, an Anita Shreve and an Alice Walker. And when I got home the postman had delivered a Muriel Spark. I have resigned myself to dying before I've read everything I want to read. 

Wintry day today, sharp showers and hailstones. Bert says it is to freeze tonight. Please let my peach tree be kept safe from the frost. Those baby peaches are very tender.

Peaches are not the only babies around here. We have lots of little robins hopping about, exploring their surroundings. Please, please let my baby robins be kept safe from the cats.

Through A Window

 

I'm recording the birds I see from my window and it occurred to me that I'm like a primary school teacher with a roll book. The goldfinches showed up for the first time yesterday even though my nyjer seed feeder has been in place for at least two weeks. It seems they preferred to visit the feeders outside Hannah's windows. 

It was very wet today and the pied wagtails did not appear. I hope they come tomorrow. A solitary wren footered about the crevices in the stone wall. Wrens have no interest in feeders, they only care for live insects.

Both pictures above were taken through the window so not that good but I like them because they are my birds. The first sunny day I'm cleaning that window.

Live Fast, Die Young

We have a family of robins that live in the polytunnel that Bert feeds with mealworms. Adult robins can be quite unafraid of people but the juveniles tend to be more timorous. Bert tells me that there is a young one that is unusually forward and will come very close to him when he produces the food.

My first encounter with it was when I was weeding the runner beans. It followed my busy hands at about a distance of half a metre showing no fear at all. The first picture was taken with my phone but I had to fetch the camera to take advantage of the zoom.

Here's  Robin sitting on a peach tree. Watching me, apparently fearless. I hardly needed to use the zoom lens.

The following morning at around eight am I was sitting outside drinking coffee and eating a toasted pancake and I heard a little commotion and there he (or she?) was again. Once again the camera comes out. I've never met a bird so quiet in my life.

Robin was not offered pancake crumbs. I'm sure they'd be bad for it and I wouldn't want to encourage it to come to the house because of the cats. But it just came closer and closer.

A tiny little creature like that should not be so unafraid of humans or dogs or cats. I feared it would not live long.

So delicate and vulnerable. Those tiny little legs seemed hardly strong enough to hold it. That was the last photograph I took. Friends came round and helped us make a paved area at the side of the new lawn. The robin fluttered around most of the day watching people work and swooped down occasionally to feast on the insects that they disturbed. Evening came and we did not see it again.

This morning Robin was nowhere to be seen. The adults were in the polytunnel as usual as were the other juveniles but no sign of the fearless one. Maybe a cat, maybe a sparrowhawk or a jay. We miss him.

The Night Before Norfolk

Well, here we are - the night before I leave for deepest Norfolk. I didn't plant the daffodil bulbs or rack the wine. I think it's safe to assume that both of these tasks can be postponed for ten days or so.

I did plant the garlic though it wasn't a straightforward task. You see there is this little white hen who can escape her enclosure even though the surrounds are more than eight foot high. I think she flies onto the branch of a tree and from there launches herself over the fence. From then on she does fun things like root through the compost heap, lay eggs in secret, private places, nibble Nelly's chard and uproot her leeks.

Evie finds the secret nest (photo by Zoe)

So I planted about half the garlic and went back to the house for more cloves and a wee coffee. And when I got back there was the little white hen who had unplanted it. So a job that should have taken an hour took nearer two for then I had to build an intricate cage around the bed to prevent further incursions. The little white hen tried to blame the damage on the polytunnel robin but I knew that was a lie. Little robins couldn't do that much mischief in so short a time.

Today I started packing and when I got bored with that the girls and I went out to pick damsons. I thought they were over but the Wee came round (just back from four weeks in Vietnam) and informed us that he'd spent the morning making damson jam. Of course, I'll not be making jam as wine is far nicer. We got about six pounds from the tree. Enough for twelve bottles of wine.

Martha picking damsons

From tomorrow I'll be away from the keyboard. I haven't decided if I'm going to take my iPad. Maybe not. A week away from the internet might be good.

Happy Christmas...

A very Happy Christmas to everyone who looks in on the Garden from time to time.

That was the back lane yesterday.

That was the Head Robin yesterday. He is surveying his territory to make sure that those other three chancers stay away. He has his work cut out for him as Nellybert provide excellent bird dining facilities and other robins keep trying to muscle in.