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Down came a blackbird her nest to compose Down came a blackbird her nest to compose
(4 months later)
All through this spring I have stood at the kitchen sink, waited for the kettle to boil, and looked idly out of the window at fragments of a life. She was there again early in the evening. Perched on a post, this blackbird was evidently nervous, flicking her wings as if she was trying to row through sand, lifting her tail to say go, dropping it to say no, not yet.All through this spring I have stood at the kitchen sink, waited for the kettle to boil, and looked idly out of the window at fragments of a life. She was there again early in the evening. Perched on a post, this blackbird was evidently nervous, flicking her wings as if she was trying to row through sand, lifting her tail to say go, dropping it to say no, not yet.
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All the while she swivelled her head, cocking it to the side, looking up at the world, trying to make sure it wasn’t looking at her. The reason for her anxiety was apparent. A beak full of moss showed she was at the soft furnishing stage of nesting. She had been trying to deceive unseen watchers, attempting to conceal the location of her nest from predators.All the while she swivelled her head, cocking it to the side, looking up at the world, trying to make sure it wasn’t looking at her. The reason for her anxiety was apparent. A beak full of moss showed she was at the soft furnishing stage of nesting. She had been trying to deceive unseen watchers, attempting to conceal the location of her nest from predators.
More than once she flew into one part of the hedge, then scrambled through the branches in near invisibility to where her nest was sited. Not invisible enough, perhaps. My time at the window told me that the blackbird’s nesting attempts had failed twice already this season, for whatever reason.More than once she flew into one part of the hedge, then scrambled through the branches in near invisibility to where her nest was sited. Not invisible enough, perhaps. My time at the window told me that the blackbird’s nesting attempts had failed twice already this season, for whatever reason.
She should have been incubating her eggs and her male companion should have been feeding the first brood. Instead, he was mooching about and squabbling with the neighbours. Can a bird be bored?She should have been incubating her eggs and her male companion should have been feeding the first brood. Instead, he was mooching about and squabbling with the neighbours. Can a bird be bored?
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Two days before, the female bird had been fishing around for straws and practising intelligence disguised as ineptitude. She would pluck up a straw, hop a few paces and then drop it to pick up another, like a greedily indecisive customer in a shoe shop. This seemingly pointless ritual carried on for two or three minutes and, in that time, as she tugged at dry grass and bobbed about with it brandished in her beak, I wondered if she was cleverer than I had thought. Was she weighing it up, making minute decisions about how it might or might not fit?Two days before, the female bird had been fishing around for straws and practising intelligence disguised as ineptitude. She would pluck up a straw, hop a few paces and then drop it to pick up another, like a greedily indecisive customer in a shoe shop. This seemingly pointless ritual carried on for two or three minutes and, in that time, as she tugged at dry grass and bobbed about with it brandished in her beak, I wondered if she was cleverer than I had thought. Was she weighing it up, making minute decisions about how it might or might not fit?
At last, the moss-carrying bird flew directly up to her new nest in the clematis. She is sitting there now. Will this be her third time lucky?At last, the moss-carrying bird flew directly up to her new nest in the clematis. She is sitting there now. Will this be her third time lucky?