Close Encounters of the Avian Kind

Digging in the soil will often attract a robin or blackbird to an easy meal. So it was no surprise when a smart male blackbird was soon eyeing the wriggling treats unearthed by my digging a new drainage ditch in the garden. As I watched him through the front window, turfing the loose soil about next to my bucket in that well-known energetic fashion, I realised that this was no ordinary blackbird. Robins will often pose on the handle of a spade or dart in at your feet to snatch a titbit, but the behaviour of this blackbird can only be described as practically suicidal! Most mystifying of all was not the complete disregard for my being close by, but that I was sitting in a two ton, self-drive mini-digger, roaring noisily away on its muddy tracks whilst I fumbled at the controls on my first test drive.

As I powered away all through the weekend, the bird was there in the trench. That he was so close seemed very unusual, for most often blackbirds are flighty and disappear leaving only their piercing alarm calls. Whenever I stepped from the cab he would still be busy and seemingly unfazed by my presence. From that day on and almost every day since, for seven years now, “Mr. B” as we have come to call him, has been a constant source of amazement. How soon he became ultra-tame I can’t recall, for it seemed no time at all before my wife, Rose, managed to coax him to a hand-held crumb. So bold had he become by early Spring that he would fly momentarily onto our heads, landing for a second and repeating this until we produced his favourite ‘Cornish wafer’ of that well known brand of course. By coming into the kitchen and demanding, loudly to be given yet more wafer, he soon learnt the layout of our ground floor rooms and even where the fruit bowl resides!

Wherever we go now in the garden, he will soon be there, often running along behind us and always keeping a beady eye open for the opportune snack. Never risk-averse, he often plays ‘catch me if you can’ with the motor mower for the chance that an insect might jump his way. Just at dusk on most days, he enjoys a mad half hour before roosting, often in an ornamental bay tree. He will alarm call loudly and repeatedly whilst flying at breakneck speed to pass within inches of one’s face and swoop away over a hedge, only to fly back the other way moments later, in a dare-devil stunt repeat.

We live surrounded mostly by open land and gardens on the edge of the village of Musbury where the local blackbird population seems to be thriving. Mr.B’s territory is largely our garden and is quite well defined, sometimes physically by hedges but also by the head bowed gesturing and ‘mirror’ walking that two male birds perform along either side of an invisible line between territories, behaviour seldom leading to actual violence beyond the odd flap.

In his first Spring we soon saw his mate carrying large beakfuls of grass and muddy leaves to a nest site within a large pile of logs and in due course, four green/brown flecked eggs hatched to become very demanding chicks. She was always nervous at our appearance on the scene, and though witnessing the trusting nature of her partner many times, never became truly human-friendly. Concerned not to interfere with the well-chosen diet selected for growing blackbirds we resisted Mr. B’s demands for his favourite wafer until one day, when the chicks were well grown and feathered, we gave in. Not all went to plan, however, for as soon as Mr. B had flown from the hand, he was at the nest aiming a large wafer wedge into a gaping yellow mouth. Urged by a frantic need to feed, he continued over and over again to offer this oversized bite to an undersized gullet. I felt compelled to step in, fearing an imminent choking, and rescued the biscuit from the poor chick’s beak. Poised on the edge of the nest, Mr. B eyed me quizzically as I broke the wafer in two, successfully giving one piece to the chick and the other to him. When the young finally flew the nest, it wasn’t long before we were hand-feeding not one bird but five, as each fledgling in turn learnt to follow their father’s example of trust. None stayed for more than two or three weeks, soon forcibly evicted by a seemingly uncaring and even beak snapping parent, to make way for the next brood. Though this happened many times, 2005 was a record year with four successful broods, totalling fifteen offspring in all. One clutch of five we named: Rusty, Droopy, Blacky, Dopey and Coughy, each with their own personality. Coughy, who had a persistent cough, was very excitable and couldn’t wait to fly up to hand for a wafer crumb, screaming with delight.

The following year a new mate brought about a surprising change. After some time watching from a distance, as Mr.B snacked at the wafer bar, she finally became equally tame, even to the point of flying straight at us to solicit more cracker and getting to know the ground floor layout of our house too. She was a lovely bird with a creamy striped bib. Not all years have been good for our blackbirds; some clutches and nestlings have been destroyed in succession by magpies, crows, or squirrels. The ever-present threat of sudden death by sparrowhawk was sadly we think, a fate which befell Mrs B., whilst feeding young. Mr. B tried to manage on his own but despite our help it seemed that all failed again.

Intervention can be considered undesirable in the instance of a wildlife predicament, though many, myself included, find it hard to resist helping out at the cost of interrupting Darwin’s Theory of Evolution. When Mr.B was found to be ‘in trouble with his bottom’ it soon became apparent that he had picked up a bad case of parasitic worms! Noticing of late that he had looked out of condition, a quick call to West Hatch RSPCA Wildlife Hospital near Taunton, resulted in a 50 mile round-trip to collect two treatments specially gauged for a blackbird. How to administer the medication was more of a problem – direct to mouth or in food? Since he was feeding young at the time, the latter was ruled out in case one poor chick ended up taking the medicine instead. Used to coming in the back door uninvited, Mr.B was completely trusting. In an unrehearsed though perfectly timed three person – one bird manoeuvre, a held-open beak was flushed with liquid purge. Released immediately, he flew up to a nearby tree looking just a bit ruffled but within five minutes was back again for his usual wafer crumb, feeling none the worse at that moment but hopefully a lot, lot better in time.

It might be thought fanciful to imagine such a bond with humankind to be more than driven by a convenient and ever present food source. It is quite common, after all, for all kinds of wild creatures, such as badgers, foxes, seals, and even pine martins to accept friendly offerings of food. Birds visiting our feeders, especially in winter, become more tolerant of a nearby observer and there are widely reported relationships, with blackbirds and robins especially. I can’t help thinking however, as Mr.B perches on the back of the garden bench beside us, pulling one leg up into his feathers and lazily closing an eyelid, that there is something more than just a wafer between us. He loves ripe pears, seeking out the fruit bowl in the kitchen even though he cannot see it from outside the house, and has been scolded many times for lacerating the fruit on the sly. His diet is becoming almost as varied as ours. Dining alfresco takes on a special meaning when one guest flies in and takes off with a juicy prawn starter, followed by whole grapes and a cheese course! A birdbrain challenge one day resulted in him selecting fruitcake over brown toast, even though the cake took more effort to reach and was surrounded by much easier fare.

His friendship has allowed us a close up view of all kinds of bird behaviour that we had never had the opportunity of witnessing before. Perhaps amongst the most bizarre to see at first hand are sunbathing and anting. On hot clear days, Mr.B will be found in a sheltered sun trap, spreadeagled on the ground, head held back with beak gaping and wings and tail splayed out absorbing the rays in a Tai Chi like trance. When anting, he is all consumed with picking up ants from a disturbed nest and depositing them into his feathers, dancing and scratching at the ground to excite the ants. Formic acid produced defensively by the ants may perhaps have some remedial effect on any parasitic infestation in the feathers.

Mr and Mrs B have nested all round their patch, more than once in the ball shaped top of a topiary bay tree and also against the house where a substantial mud lined cup was built securely in a wall-trained pyracantha. Surprisingly, some nests were occasionally renovated and used twice in the same season, though always it seems, with a new-build nest site in between. Though all nests are constructed entirely by the female bird, I have seen Mr.B positively selecting the nest site by actively snuggling down into the spot then finally chosen. At times when there is ripe fruit in the garden, yet another side to his personality emerges. It is no surprise that our native tree Prunus avium is also called the wild bird cherry, for wild in its fierce and unrelenting sense well describes Mr.B as he takes on all-comers in a desperate bid to save ‘his’ cherries from the invading hordes. I’ve seen as many as twenty-two blackbirds in one tree, each winging in to pluck a ripe cherry before being verbally and physically assaulted by a defiant owner run ragged. Later on, our ornamental hawthorn Crateagus prunifolia is another target, a larder in co-ownership with a very bossy mistle thrush who, it has to be said, often rules the roost.

There is, however, no trait to compare with that joyous song of male blackbirds in spring, their clean melodious calls ringing out from first light until dusk. Although he has once actually sung in the kitchen, Mr.B has his favourite singing post on top of a nearby telegraph pole; his songs now include a perfect reproduction of our telephone! Perhaps even more surprising is his wintertime habit of practising those same songs, but at whisper tone whilst hidden deep in cover. When he disappeared in his first autumn, we feared the worst and admit to looking sorrowfully along the lane for a flattened splodge and in the fields for a pile of plucked feathers, including his one white albinistic ear-covert. In subsequent years, we learnt that he normally becomes reclusive when he moults. He may be glimpsed briefly with only two well-spaced tail feathers or a quill head set and is rarely at the door for a Cornish wafer during this time.

As the years have passed, we have set a progressively higher value on this special relationship and with it, a gradual acceptance of Mr.B’s mortality. However, we cannot help but worry if he’s not at the backdoor first thing or fails to greet us at the sound of our car approaching the house. As we walk about the village there is often a blackbird perched close by that doesn’t fly off in a panic – could this be one of ‘ours’ – Coughy perhaps? For the last two years, Mike Tyler of the Axe Estuary Ringing Group has ringed the fledglings in the nest so that we might be able to confirm a sighting. So far, we have only seen two ringed youngsters who returned together six weeks later but still came to be fed by hand. [Sadly one was killed by a car outside the Editor’s house in Musbury].

Mr.B is now in his seventh breeding year and still looks in fine shape in spite of enduring some bitter winter nights and gale blown stormy days. Most mornings he’s there at dawn, skilfully accepting breakfast on the wing in a swift fly-by snatch and grab, or walking into the hallway when the door is open and whistling for a wafer. We have felt it a special privilege that this wild and still wild bird has adopted us and given us such a rare insight into his busy and normally private world.

He has a shy new mate in tow and is currently walking the bounds of his garden territory together with his mirror image – a son by his late wife perhaps. We have no idea how long blackbirds can live but every year now seems a bonus [The oldest ringed bird (in Germany) was over 21 years old – Ed.]. After five failed nests in 2009, Mr B chose to start his latest brood just a foot above our back door, next to an outside light – a sensor controlled one! Just two chicks hatched and successfully fledged from a clutch of four. Both are now ringed and one, a male we think…….. just bold enough to take a wafer crumb at our feet.