10 May 2013
I have many bird stories. There was a crazed duck which attempted to build her nest on the top of a six-foot hedge and then laid two eggs in a flower-pot.
There was a blue tit that tried to nest in a small keyhole. It kept banging into the glass door. The RSPB suggested black cut-outs of predatory birds stuck onto the panes – it made no difference. Bang bang bang went the poor thing, always on the same glass door. It was as distressing for me as for it. Then it started sitting on the handle, leaning down and pecking furiously. Eventually I twigged (sorry) and sellotape’d over the key hole. It did the trick.
Of course there was Robin. He became so tame he not only ate out of my hand in the garden but would sit on the kitchen table for his breakfast. Grated cheddar was his preference. Once I found him upstairs where he left a small dropping on my side of the bed!
Alas the time came when the rats realised what a good thing Robin was on to. They never made it into the house, but Keith of Vermin Control insisted that I stop feeding Robin, or he wouldn’t come and deal with Rat. Feebly, I gave in.
The story of “Silver” the swift is told here.