Old Newton's Wild Kingdom

Our bird feeder must to have a reputation like that of a 3 Michelin star restaurant by the amount of birds we attract. Starlings are always the ones who start off the feasting, followed by coupled doves (feisty little things), noisy sparrows, blue tits (no human affiliation whatsoever), and the lonely pantaloon-legged wood pigeon whom I fondly call "Gus"— to name just a few of the regulars. Sometimes we even get the odd pheasant chomping away, making loud clucking sounds (no gun jokes please).

There's one starling who I swear has six babies. Then again, she might be feeding the neighbor's kids too— a bit of bird babysitting if you will. She'll grab a piece of bread three times her weight and shove it into the nearest babe's mouth. I could almost hear her saying, "OPEN dammit!". Some chicks will swallow it, but others— well, they're a bit smarter. For instance one particular starling knows to appreciatively take the pound of bread from mum, then place it gently back on the floor and wait for the next round of grub instead of trying to choke it down. Quite funny to watch really. He's very methodical— but quite exasperating for mum I'm sure.

Starling Mum never stops. Like a well-oiled machine, she'll pick up a piece of bread (a daily on the menu), enthusiastically shoves it into baby's mouth, then moves onto the next one. Obviously part of her daily aerobics regime. By the time she finishes the last of her umpteen children, she goes back to the first. Well, whomever she remembers as the first. I've seen her feed the same chick several times while the others wait patiently. I guess its the loudest gets fed first— and often.

The doves on the other hand can be quite lazy. I've seen one belly-up to the bird box, plant himself down, and eat what was around him. Oh and God forbid you're "... not from around these here parts..." or you'd be dead meat as far as they're concerned. Those placid looking birds can be vicious little buggers. I've witnessed two males fighting a few feet from where I stood. If I hadn't've stopped it, one of them would surely have been the neighbor's cat's next dead meal— feathers flying everywhere. Heeee-uuuu-WEE — wadda fight!

Have I mentioned the bathing facilities lately? The two ton plastic mushroom container is never empty. It always has fresh water with the odd bird bathing and singing. No doubt the acoustics are accommodating. Of course the water is used for other things too— drinking for one, and the odd suicidal snail.

We have had a few hedgehogs too. When they walk, they look like rolly pollies with legs on a rounded peg. Strange little things— and their mating sound— yowza!— it's like a cat who's close to death or— worse— WET— and desperate to come in after some light drizzle. I'm sure they do that sound to psyche me out. Strangely enough I've heard, "Get this— watch what happens when I start wailing...!" from the bushes— then again that could've been the after effects of the pub's moonshine. Still, they're quite fascinating— and quite ticklish on the belly I've found.

It's never a day without an aviary or hedgehog adventure. Forget Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom. I've got my own wild kingdom a few feet from my office door.