I was standing by my little pear tree when it flew onto a branch a foot or so from my head and rested there without paying me any attention whatsoever. An adult blue tit flew onto an adjoining branch and held out a morsel of food, but declined to let the baby eat it. (Back to that old getting-them-out-of-the-nest ruse again, I suppose.) The adult then flew off to the nearby plumb tree and waited. Baby followed and also waited. Parent nudged baby in the back, flew to the top of the garden, and baby followed as you might expect (because that’s what babies do.)
It’s all about training I assume, and all rather life-affirming. Whether you agree or not is up to you, but I do so like that sort of thing.
A few minutes later I saw a second one on the feeding table at the side of my house – plumper, less ragged, and possessed of much yellower plumage when compared with the adults. They’re very handsome and a lot more naïve than the grown ups when approached by big creatures walking on two legs. I got almost to within touching distance before instinct took proper control and the little guy rushed off to the cover of the nearby hedge. (The adults are not so accommodating, being mad, feisty, and prepared to fight anything smaller than a sparrow hawk.)
So there you have it: today was Baby Blue Tit Day, and such days come close to encouraging the belief that life on this benighted planet is not so bad after all as long as you steer well clear of humans.
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