She has a nest now. (I wish I could say that it’s in the hazel
thicket, as Sam did up on Mount
Doom, but it isn’t. It’s
in the forsythia bush at the side of my little front porch.) And the eggs have
obviously hatched because she’s been taking food in for a few days.
We had rain all afternoon and into the evening yesterday,
and I watched her flying in with food for the kids. She looked so bedraggled,
poor thing. She looked more like a drowned rat than a blackbird, and that isn’t
right. Adult birds fend off water pretty well, because feathers in good
condition are oiled and the water runs off.
And so I worried about her all last night. I feared she
might get chilled and not make it, as chicks with un-oiled baby down do if the
parents don’t shelter them from the rain. Well, she did make it. She was charging around as usual this morning, eating
for herself and bringing food for the wee’uns.
And I’ve noticed something interesting. She feeds ravenously
on the oats I put out when she’s eating for herself, but I’ve only ever seen
her bring earthworms for the chicks. That’s what I call responsible parenting,
and Mrs B is what I regard as a right little heroine.
No comments:
Post a Comment