The Dedication of the Birds.

Most of the birds who feed at my bird tables disappear after sunset, presumably having gone to roost for the night. Except, that is, the blackbirds and robins who obviously have new life stirring in a nest somewhere in the vicinity. I watch them braving the cold wind as the darkness gathers, filling their beaks with rolled oats and then flying away at speed before returning for another consignment a few minutes later.

It reminds me of that female blackbird a few years ago when we had a particularly cold, wet spring. I think I made a post about her at the time. Her plumage was in a terrible condition due to having had feathers torn out in a fight with another female a week or so earlier. She looked like a drowned rat and must have been horribly chilled, yet still she kept flying to her nest through the downpour with a beak full of food for the chicks. One day I didn’t see her, and the next day there was a smell of rot in the vicinity of the nest. It was reasonable to presume that she must finally have succumbed to the cold and the herculean effort. I naturally hoped that at least some of the chicks might have been strong enough to survive and fledge because then her sacrifice would not have been in vain, but it was probably a forlorn hope because I’m often reminded that nature pays little heed to fairness.