FEEDING THE FLOCK.
One momentary lapse of attention and a heart-breaking discovery.
Since the tail-end of 2024's Winter I began buying suet pellets, seed and dried mealworms in order to feed my garden bird visitors. My main aim was to help them prepare for the nesting season to follow in early 2025.
Like most people who live in an urban setting, garden birds are acknowledged but not really focused upon. They come, they go, they sometimes crap on your washing line full of clean clothes. Aside from that, they fill a silence with the musicality of nature. Some more than others.
The feeding 'table' of choice I decided would be the garage roof - low enough for me to place food adequately, but tall enough to give the birds confidence in feeding with the risk of predators.
THE REGULARS ARRIVE.
First to the table were Jackdaws. Where I live the area is known for these dark, grey-eyed Corvids. Intelligent and observant, over the weeks that followed they became accustomed to my whistle and clicks, announcing breakfast had been served. Apparently, Jackdaws are among the few who can recognise humans by their face should you interact with them often enough.
Soon the wild bird network had been alerted: Free Food! It wasn't long until the local Sparrow tribe had built up enough courage to arrive in flitting two's and three's, then four's - you get the picture.
Wasn't long before the chicken-sized Wood Pigeons muscled in on the action. Plump and cautious, they'd often stand aside from a higher vantage point and watch and wait. Once the hustle and bustle of the feeding frenzy had calmed down, in they would flutter to feed. In all fairness to the Wood Pigeons, they tended to go for the food/seed the other ignored. Made my life easier with less cleaning up to do post meal.
Soon enough 'The Garage Roof' was the place to be seen if you were a hungry bird: Collared Doves, attended, all shy and demure - real sweethearts. Then came the Crow faction, like bouncers arriving for a gig, all cocky and strutting. Other birds tended to give them space. And then there was the 'Smash 'n' Grab' gang - the Starlings. Like looters at a protest, they swooped in en masse, beaks pecking like jack hammers, guzzling as much as possible in the shortest time possible. Then they were gone.
I'll be honest, I wasn't a fan of the Starlings to begin with, as little was left for the other to eat once they'd done the hit-and-run tactic. But as time passed, they grew on me.
Soon the 'Black and Whites' got in on the action - the Magpies. Another member of the Corvid family, and one of the most intelligent. They were aggressive, bolshy and even chased off the Jackdaws, with their cackling calls, as if laughing like lunatics, and bouncing hops.
But it was the "cronk-cronk" call that got my attention the most, announcing the arrival of a Rook. A mature male or female - I couldn't tell which - big, strong-looking and almost otherworldly with its scruffy, greyish-white scraped beak. It came alone, and other birds left it that way. It moved with a deliberate purpose, confident in its stride, though watching constantly for anything untoward. I'd sit in my room at the back of the house watching, mesmerised. I can see why these birds are associated with supernatural purpose and power, myth and omen.
FLEDGLING SEASON.
Moving forward to post-nesting and the fledgling phase of Spring 2025.
My bird restaurant, 'The Garage Roof' was a hit. Fully booked all morning, a bit of a dip in the mid portion of the day, and a slight uptick in the late afternoon. If it were a business, I'd be doing well.
The fledgling birds were amusing to watch, especially the Crows. Long, gangly legs, and a twitchy outlook to everything made me laugh often - jumping at every little thing, then head down for food, then jumping again, then head down. The parents looked on bemused.
Of the Starlings, they had the largest group of fledglings. One in particular drew my attention and over the following weeks, held it enough to the point where I'd seek out this one bird come feeding time.
Why? It was on one feeding rush, a mob of juvenile and adult Starlings came to feed, some jumping to the garden shed roof to feed, along side the Sparrows. One particular Starling fledgling seemed entranced watching the Sparrows as they hopped and fed. So much so, that it was left behind after the rest had flown off. Unphased, it trailed after the Sparrows, all wide-eyed, almost puppy-like. Fed, the Sparrows took flight and left. Behind them the fledgling Starling looked lost and confused. Eventually it hopped into the nearby bushes.
The following day I was pleased to see the Sparrows gathered on the shed roof, eating, and among them was the young Starling. When the Sparrows took flight, the young Starling went with them. Over the following days it became apparent that the Sparrows had accepted the fledgling Starling into their ranks. Even when the Starling mob arrived and departed, the young Starling stayed close with its new Sparrow family.
A LITTLE COMPANION.
My garden feeds were now alive with young birds of all the species I've mentioned, except for the pigeons. It was wonderful to watch, of a morning, after I'd put the food out in the various 'stations' for the birds, to sit back and see them flying in drips and drabs. It reminded me of a busy airport. So long as I didn't make too big a movement whilst drinking my morning coffee, my garden patrons didn't flinch or flee.
Moving forward to the month of August, and I'm in the garden when a darting movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. A Sparrow. Young, thin, and carrying a drooping wing. It stopped under the bird table to pick seed from the floor, but when I moved it scurrying into the safety of the rose bushes. I could see it hopping about in the shadows. "Fair enough," I thought. I would keep an eye out for this one and see if it would eventually fly over the coming days.
Those days turned into weeks. By now, the little Sparrow had started getting used to my presence in the garden, sometimes tweeting as I did my garden duties, to which, I'd whistle back. I made a point of laying out seed in specific areas I had observed the Sparrow frequenting around the garden. Some mornings it would wiggle its way under the netting of my fish pond and watch me, still scurrying away to the safety of the rose bushes if I came too close - but still no sign of flying or that wing improving. It still drooped, and two weeks had passed by.
It was a sunny afternoon, and I had made some toast and coffee, and sat in the garden enjoying the warmth. My little companion was hopping about by the side of the pond, curious to my intention. I broke off some small pieces of toast, flicking them in the direction of the little Sparrow. I smiled as it took a piece of toast, hopped around the pond and onto a bush next to me, then into the rose bushes and took up place behind me to eat the bread.
Just two buds chilling with some toast.
CONTENT WARNING: CONTAINS GRAPHIC IMAGE
THE HEARTBREAK.
I eventually finished my coffee and returned to the kitchen, washed up and headed up stairs to get on with some writing. It must have been about an hour or so when the clacking of a Magpie attracted my attention. Looking out the window I watched as a solitary Magpie strutted around the pond, clacking as it did. The only reason I went down to the garden was to shoo the thing away, as the noise it was making became intolerable for me to concentrate.
Aldo, our Lab-Retriever rescue dog came out too, and seemed really interested in the pebbled dog toilet area I'd made several years back. Moving him aside, my heart sank. I stared blankly at the mess of feathers strewn about the small, bloodied corpse of my Sparrow friend. And I hadn't seen a thing, even though I was only twenty feet away. It couldn't be, was my initial thought, as I reached out carefully. I turned the little body over to examine the wing. It was dropped. My eyes wandered to the gaping hole in the poor Sparrow's chest.
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| Copyright © Mark Kelly 2025 |
Anger slowly spread through my body. A Sparrow Hawk had been hanging around the area recently, and when I looked into it, this method of killing and stripping of feathers was typical for that species of Raptor. But then... my mind did a flip, that fucking Magpie! It too could have been the culprit.
The blood was still fresh and the body still warm, even in the shade, so I'd not long missed the attack.
I dug a hole in which to lay the Sparrow's body amongst the rose bushes. Gathering the broken body, I carefully laid it to rest. Once covered with earth, I placed one of the Sparrow's wing feathers as a marker, and silently bid my little friend goodbye.
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| Copyright © Mark Kelly 2025 |
As the day's calm settles over the garden and the memories of my little friend linger, I leave you with a song that feels like a whispered goodbye: Fleetwood Mac - "Songbird". Let it play and take a moment to breathe with the birds.
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