Time for a song

A morning with Son of Bob.

Not captured on film: SoB getting chased up the path by a blue tit; SoB engaging in the community alarm calls when the cat was obviously about in someone's garden; SoB regurgitating a grub so he could eat a suet pellet.

He will stay with me for half an hour. If I go to the front of the garden, he follows. He perches on the fence at my shoulder. If he is singing and I turn, he sings six inches from my face. He hops around my feet so much I have to be careful where I walk. Every now and then he torpedoes off to chase someone, but returns, and if I don't notice he calls - not the alarm call but a high pitched whistle.

As I watch him, his body size and shape is always shifting. He puffs up in rest, creating a duvet from his down. He becomes long and thin with curiosity. He hunkers in alertness. He holds his wings slightly draped open or close to his body. He scratches, he preens, he inspects his feet.

This is incredible. Addictive.

He also keeps other birds at a distance.

In other news, the crows remain hard to see. And no signs of youngsters. I've fed the Divines, Driveways and the Unbrave Three - who are still losing food to a small squirrel. Looking at them, I wondered if the third was Four or perhaps a new one (Five?) as it seemed to beg from a parent. Looking at the squirrel, still so small, I wondered if it was the same one maybe unable to grow properly due to the mange. It seems to have very little tail fur now, but no signs of hair loss on the body, as far as I could tell.

The Playgrounds and the Flyings have not been around at all.

The kestrel is still flying around the rec and the jays still visit the garden.