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Saga of a woman old enough to know better who lets her life be governed by the ridiculous hobby of breeding and showing dogs, musing on life, the twenty first century, Cameron and his mini-me, and the occasional sheep.
"IN DOG YEARS, I`M DEAD"

Tuesday, May 17, 2005

MORE FROM BIRDLAND 

Still a bit cold but I feel I can`t delay the bedding plants much longer. I feel starved for colour in all this green.
Apart from keeping the dogs from general garden destruction at this time of year, the big upheaval is the hanging baskets. They hang just outside the window, so that I get the benefit.

The big problem is that they replace two large birdfeeders. That`s the way it is. I need those brackets. The peanuts come down, the petunias go up.

Try telling the birds. For days after the floral efforts go up, they will be visited by an outraged procession of birds. The two small feeders are simply not good enough. The tits often try to dismantle the baskets in the hope that the peanuts are just buried in there. The woodpeckers are very offended and make loud noises of disapproval and walk up and down with heavy feet on the roof.

But there are still two left and the tits in particular bring their broods of fledgelings to them. I suppose I`m encouragng a fast food culture among the young - you can see the harrassed mothers thinking, "Once I`ve taught them to get the peanuts I`ve set them up for life, and to hell with this responsibility nonsense...." No doubt somewhere in the wood a Jamie Oliver tit is raging against the birdfeeder culture and demanding to know why young mothers can`t prepare a decent caterpillar any more

I watched one struggling bluetit mother who had brought six to the windowsill feeder for their Happy Meals. It was uphill work. The little ones were perched unsurely in the honeysuckle and on the sill, mouths gaping, and she bustled about. pecking off bits of peanut and sticking them into the wide open beaks.

But it was a slow business. I watched her as she put a sliver of nut for the third time into one beak and for the third time the baby dropped it and squeaked again for food. Her eyes glazed. You could see that she had lost it. Every mother`s been there. "A few flaps of my wings an I`m outa here!" Then the moment faded and she got back to the task.

Well, the countdown is on. The baskets go up after my coming weekend adventures in the world of Irish shows........

But that`s another story.
Comments:
Haha, I really enjoyed reading this post! A Jamie Oliver tit? He's already one, isnt he! :)
 
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