Bird Life
Today Ronnie and Reggie ©, our thug life magpies, are demolishing mountains of old cheese and hillocks of stale bread in a Mischiefs version of a pub lunch, seeing off the opposition with an ease formed by long hardman practice. Let me tell you about this pair of gangsters…
During the Summer we were woken daily by the clash of seagull squawks and magpie clacks, the gangs,The Gulls and The Pies, forming along our walls for a standoff while waiting for us to feed them, which we do as regularly as we can. They must have a clock tower in bird land because they arrive at the right time every morning and evening and claim their territories with a vengeance. Ronnie and Reggie are always on the lookout for ways to reduce the enemy and get a sly punch in, a way to annoy or hurt the rest of the bird kingdom, they could start a fight in an empty room. Every bird in the garden is their enemy. Hopping around the seagulls who out rank them in terms of size and beak they jab here, jab there, cunningly look as if they are hopping away and then swoop back with another jab and a clack. Their favourite tactic is to attack the weak and vulnerable wherever possible.
Gull babies are ungainly beings, wobbly, they seem unable to manage their bulk and they hunch like tall women do when ashamed of their height or bulk. They squeak meaningfully and sadly from the rooftops for their parents when they are off finding the family dinner. It takes a while for them to learn to fly properly and there are sometimes tragedies in the gardens where we find dead baby gulls who have fallen from the rooftops before they gain their Blue Peter flying badges, leaving the parents keening and sad. But overall they survive and we get to know them well over the following few months. For a long time we had Kevin, Mrs Kevin and Son of Kevin breakfasting with us each year, but we now have Son of Kevin only and are looking forward to Mrs SonOfKevin joining us. And she will. Grandson of Kevin will be a welcome addition to our household.
A few weeks ago when the gulls were busy making more gulls – and the babies always seem bigger than the parents, I wait to see if next year they produce baby gulls the size of shetland ponies – Ronnie and Reggie watched and waited, beady bright eyes monitoring the flight paths and timetables of the parents, studying the competence of the babies, assessing their naivety. And as always happens, one hunched-over baby becomes ambitious and optimistic and thinks independence is prematurely attractive, hops down clumsily when Ma and Pa are away and settles on the wall where the Gangs meet and face-off. Swaying from one side to another, unable to gain a proper web-hold and slipping about almost tumbling but keeping a tiny bit of balance sufficient to stay upright Baby is confident enough to attempt a walk along the fight-path and soon finds it is perhaps a wall too far. And Ronnie and Reggie go into action. They swoop repeatedly one at a time from left and right, boom boom boom, close enough to send a breeze over the baby but not touching her, clacking alarmingly as they go, producing from Baby a wobble and a squeak of fear. Baby shouts for Ma and Pa but they are shopping for dinner out of earshot. In an impressively co-ordinated tactic the Pies dive bomb, alarm and harass baby Gull into a panic and she begins to slip from the wall. If she falls she will die, if not from the fall – which is quite likely – from the assault that will inevitably follow from the Pies.
But hang on – just as the denouement becomes horribly clear here come Ma and Pa Gull shrieking into the tableau. The Pies look up, their hard black eyes sharp and quick. You can feel and hear them weighing it up, should they have a final swoop and peck Baby to her death beneath the wall or will Ma and Pa be too quick for them? It is certain that if they could kill Baby and get away they would but Ma and Pa fly straight into Ronnie and then Reggie, squawking fiercely, huge wings beating into the Pies, hard clever beaks ramming them amidships and sending them reeling. The sound of solid dangerous Gull beaks clapping themselves together against the black and white armour of the Pies is ferocious and loud. Clacking, shrieking and squeaking fill the garden with malice and danger. And then it is quiet.
Cautiously looking at the aftermath, seeking out Baby, we search the garden with our eyes – it would be beyond foolish to go out and risk the wrath of Gull parents especially when adrenalined up after a fight. They will take your fingers off at the knuckle just for one of your chips, the carnage if you go near Baby would be unimaginable. And there she is! Baby is as safe as she will ever be with Ma and Pa who are squawking their annoyance at her and I imagine she is grounded quite literally until flight is a reality. She flutes an apology but I think I see a gleam in her eye that tells me she is a bit proud of surviving, fluffing her feathers with a bravado she fails to conceal, now that it is over…
Up next time in Bird Life 2, the tale of Fatneck Tony © the virile and handsome pigeon who rules his harem with warmth and vigour but isn’t above some sly sexism and privilege.