Yorkshire Day… whatever that’s supposed to mean.
As I let Mia out into the garden first thing, a wren machine-gunned from somewhere in the undergrowth. It’s good to hear them back in the garden.
As I stood in the light drizzle, trying to locate the tiny bird, I heard a dull tapping. A great spotted woodpecker was hacking about near the top of our Scots pine in search of grubs. They’re only occasional visitors to our garden. Fabulous birds.
Mia wasn’t the least bit interested in stupid wrens or woodpeckers. Why was I wasting time gazing at birds when there were balls to be thrown?
Back throwing balls for Mia in the garden in the afternoon, there were wren calls all about. Parents keeping in contact with their young. I spotted at least five birds. Pound for pound, the noisiest in the business.
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