The first clue was the birds swooping my husband, every time he ventured to the shed in the back yard. ‘There must be a nest in the tree.’
The next morning, he found a chick on the grass under the tree. It was small, feathered, shaped like a globe. We were sure we saw it blink. Any attempt to investigate was met with frenzied dive bombing.
Slowly, the chick became more active. Very slowly. There were definite blinks and slight head movements. Mum, dad and multiple other bird clan members were on patrol.
Fast forward five days… The bird is still in our back yard, sitting on the grass under the tree. He chirps all day long and members of his flock respond. He is well-fed, the size of a clenched fist. He stumbles around a little bit.
He has spent the dark hours tucked up in a cosy, lined box in our garage. You’d think the flock might appreciate well-intended efforts to protect the poor mite from frozen feathers and the local famished fluffy feline. But no! The swooping continues.
We have previously found ourselves as short-term co-parents to a baby bird (‘Wee Peewee’, 30 June 2022). The baby peewee’s parents were attentive, but we felt like we were all working together, rooting for the little one.
This time, we feel more like hostages in our house. Our hospitality is being tested.
Nature is wondrous and instinct is a powerful thing. The birds are doing what they must to protect their baby. Does their aggression mean that they are better parents than the peewee parents? Or were the peewees more intuitive, sensitive to the human aid?
We wish the little one all the best. Please get those wings flapping and fly away.
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