Beautiful Plumage
Now that the weather is starting to improve and we are getting long periods of sunshine, well the odd hour at least, I decided to give the compost heap a good airing before it commences its long summer sweat. This comprises of shovelling the whole rotting heap out of its frame, and then shovelling it back in again - a game of two halves. Simple, and yet affective, and for the birds this meant that supper was ready.
A compost heap in mid decay is riddled with worms and when they are revealed to the world most of the feathered variety remained perched in their wooded enclave licking their beaks, bemoaning their shyness at not having the guts to nick the odd wriggler from under my nose. All except the British Robin - beautiful plumage! This bird is the epitome of the red blooded British male. Pugnacious, brave (or foolish) beyond reason, and ever so slightly barking. They swoop about perching on your spade, then on your coat, they move to the compost frame, nick a worm and they're away before you can slap an ASBO on them. Sparrows, blackbirds, thrushes? Nowhere in sight. All jealous as hell at this Man Utd supporters brass neck. He's at the top of his league and he's having a laugh!
Now, at this time of year not only do we have the pleasure of the British indigenous variety, but we also welcome red breasted visitors from Scandinavia to enjoy our warm winters. However, these foreigners don't have the gall of the British variety, and are more likely to be found skulking away in the depths of the nearest woodland. They're a bit shy, bless.
Whether the endearing oiseau rouge-gorge flitting around your patch is male or female is hard to tell as they are virtually indistinguishable, and often to themselves. Also, the chances are that you are seeing the same Robin everyday as they ardently territorial. They are prepared to fight to the death to protect their kingdom. This is where the red breast comes in. It is to ward off other Robins, rather than to pull the birds. In the old rhyme when it was asked "who killed Cock Robin?", it was more than likely another Robin protecting his territory rather the Sparrow with his "bow and arrow".
British Robins do not always find the need to migrate South for the Winter, and even then it tends to be the females who will jet off to Southern Spain or Portugal, whilst the fellas tough it out at home. Isn't that just typical, "you stop at home and sort out the nest, and I'll be back once I've topped up my red breast." You can see why these characters are the favourite British bird.
Enjoy their company.
A compost heap in mid decay is riddled with worms and when they are revealed to the world most of the feathered variety remained perched in their wooded enclave licking their beaks, bemoaning their shyness at not having the guts to nick the odd wriggler from under my nose. All except the British Robin - beautiful plumage! This bird is the epitome of the red blooded British male. Pugnacious, brave (or foolish) beyond reason, and ever so slightly barking. They swoop about perching on your spade, then on your coat, they move to the compost frame, nick a worm and they're away before you can slap an ASBO on them. Sparrows, blackbirds, thrushes? Nowhere in sight. All jealous as hell at this Man Utd supporters brass neck. He's at the top of his league and he's having a laugh!
Now, at this time of year not only do we have the pleasure of the British indigenous variety, but we also welcome red breasted visitors from Scandinavia to enjoy our warm winters. However, these foreigners don't have the gall of the British variety, and are more likely to be found skulking away in the depths of the nearest woodland. They're a bit shy, bless.
Whether the endearing oiseau rouge-gorge flitting around your patch is male or female is hard to tell as they are virtually indistinguishable, and often to themselves. Also, the chances are that you are seeing the same Robin everyday as they ardently territorial. They are prepared to fight to the death to protect their kingdom. This is where the red breast comes in. It is to ward off other Robins, rather than to pull the birds. In the old rhyme when it was asked "who killed Cock Robin?", it was more than likely another Robin protecting his territory rather the Sparrow with his "bow and arrow".
British Robins do not always find the need to migrate South for the Winter, and even then it tends to be the females who will jet off to Southern Spain or Portugal, whilst the fellas tough it out at home. Isn't that just typical, "you stop at home and sort out the nest, and I'll be back once I've topped up my red breast." You can see why these characters are the favourite British bird.
Enjoy their company.
Labels: Robin Red Breast