For the past two winters we've had a lodger take up residence on the underside of an awning over our dining room window. He -- or she -- is small and would fit comfortably in the business end of a large wooden spoon, the kind my mother used to apply to my backside when I 'got on her nerves'. Which was frequently, judging by the scar tissue on my arse.
The lodger is a bird. He -- or she -- is difficult to see (and hence identify) because of its tiny size and its habit of checking in just before dark and buggering off right before sunrise. I think the little guy is a nuthatch or chickadee or some such thing. My wife has become quite taken by the wee beast, especially when the temperature dips to minus twenty; it's pitch black outside; and the winds are a-fookin'howlin'.
The bird is a survivor. I saw him -- or her -- tonight, tucked up on the ledge, beak nestled into the soft feathers of its throat, eyes alert.
I get the eerie feeling that this winter might be its last at this earthly address. And I think he thinks the same of me.
2 comments:
Have you tried luring it down with food? You could put a camcorder near the food to make a video of it eating. It's the least thing the little fuck could do for living in your place rent free.
Not sure the little fart's worth the effort, GB. Now, if the dude were a falcon, say, or a honking big buzzard....
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