More and more, I am turning into this peculiar mix of intellectual and common-or-garden philosopher. I suspect by the time I get to be an Old Lady (like our cat), I will be all common-and-garden. I don’t know about the “common”, but the “garden” bit does appeal to me, for Earth is one big garden, and it is there that I get my taste of life.
This year, there are blackbirds nesting in the big garden, next to the house, in an ivy-overgrown tree stump.
With great interest, I have been watching the endless to-and-fro-ing of Mother Blackbird and Father Blackbird. A week or so ago, I distinguished two fledglings, big ones, ready for take-off any minute. (Winter definitely was mild. I’ve never seen blackbirds nesting this early in the garden.)
A few days ago, I sensed that Mother Bird and Father Bird were getting restless. The rate of to-in and fro-ing increased, and I understood it was time to go look for said cat, who, in spite of her age, is quite capable of catching whatever lands right before her feet.
Alas, I got side-tracked by boisterous kids (a taste of life, for sure!), and I forgot about the cat and the birds.
When I remembered, it was too late. I stormed outside, only to find one of the fledglings dead, the cat beside it, in good spirits, blatantly proud to be fully functional still.
Today, I found the other fledgling, hanging on for dear life at two-thirds height of our immense privy hedge. Mother Bird and Father Bird were to-ing and fro-ing as usual, voicing their concerns at every car, bicycle or human (with dog!) passing by, but who are we kidding? They can’t really protect their young. It’ll have to sit tight, in that hedge, until it can fly off by itself, and even then, it’s path to maturity will be long and perilous.
I know this is how it is with blackbirds. They will probably produce at least two more nests before autumn kicks in, so as to increase their chances of survival.
(Some call this a stupid strategy, but who are we to judge? Humans at one time used the same coping mechanism, and in some countries there still are people to whom having a lot of offspring seems like a good way to beat the odds.)
Still, wouldn’t it be grant if blackbirds could develop new skills to protect their young, so that they wouldn’t have to work so hard, let alone face the distress of losing a kid (or two, or three, or five) each and every season?
Now, THAT is a taste of life I’d love to have, some day!