Okay, I shall mention the ‘R’ word. But quietly. You see, two days ago, when I was standing at the kitchen sink, enjoying watching the birds at the feeding station, my eye was caught by a….sssshhhhh…R.A.T….that was availing itself of the bits of seeds and peanuts dropped by the birds.
Well, we are surrounded by fields, as you know, and the fields are full of wildlife - hares, pheasants, ducks, voles, moles, meeces, weasels, toads, foxes, frogs….and, of course, R.A.T.S. It’s part of countryside living. But when the R.A.T later returned with three smaller R.A.T.S, her babies I am guessing, I thought, this is a problem that needs dealing with because what one definitely does NOT want is R.A.T.S close to one’s house and cars because they are destructive and opportunistic little beggars. But I can’t blame the R.A.T.S for foraging beneath the bird feeders for easy food.
My options then, for dealing with this issue, were:
1) poison - but I did not want to kill the rats, nor kill other animals/birds by proxy that prey on rats
2) traps - I still did not want to kill the rats, nor transport live ones several miles away to be released elsewhere
3) stop feeding the birds - I did not want to stop feeding the birds. We have encouraged a healthy and varied bird population into the garden and the ecosystem of the garden has improved because of it
4) take ownership of a Jack Russell terrier, which are terrific ratters and, I am told, provide a quick death. I consulted Bambino about a possible Jack Russell friend. He said he would rather have a nice, floppy eared English cocker spaniel friend
5) move the bird feeders away from the house and cars to a new position.
Well, number 5 it had to be. Although I would miss bird watching from the kitchen window, at least I would be able to sit up the garden and watch them. It seemed the best compromise.
So yesterday, whilst I was at work mass producing cakes for an event today from which I would not benefit one jot, Andy moved the feeding station halfway up the garden, well away from the house, the cars, the studio and outbuildings, Edith and Sidney Bunny, and the shed.
So far, so good. I thought, at least I won’t have so much bird poop on my car now, which lives next door to the feeding station. And the Idiot Bantams won’t hang around the area either because they, too, like hoovering up the bird food remains.
However, I was then FLUNG into a worry that the birds wouldn’t know where their restaurant had gone. And indeed, this morning, I was faced by some very reproachful looking blue tits and goldfinches, all sitting in the tree demanding to be fed.
‘It’s up there!’ I mouthed through the kitchen window, pointing in the direction of up there. ‘Up there, next to the apple trees.’
The tits and finches shrugged their shoulders. The collared dove family arrived and attempted to land on a table that was no longer there. A robin glared at me from the ground. The blackbird looked positively murderous. I had to go and eat my breakfast in the dining room to avoid the avian hostility.
However, I can now reveal the identity of the cleverest bird species in the garden, who found the new feeding area within a couple of hours. And that bird is….(drumroll…..)
…the woodpecker!! Hurrah!
This still didn’t stop me from being on edge for the rest of the day fretting that come tomorrow morning the driveway would be littered with the emaciated bodies of hundreds of wild birds, and a lone crow would be sitting on top of the studio pointing its wing at me and crowing, ‘Bird Murderer!’ for all to hear.
But, by mid afternoon, the greenfinches and all tits had found the new site! And the sparrows. And the woodpeckers, of course. But not the collared doves nor the goldfinches. Can I assume they were at the back of the queue when bird brains were dished out? I think bird word will spread now and it won’t be long before everyone is happily relocated, including the R.A.T.
On a less shuddery note (unless you have sensitive teeth that is) I have today started the gooseberry harvest. They aren’t huge this year, but they are plentiful, rather nice, and perfectly acceptable to eat raw, or cooked into crumbles, fools or purée. But not jam. Gooseberry jam is impossible to make. Just ends up as gooseberry slush that pours from the jar and won’t stay on your toast.
There’s almost 5lbs in that colander, with probably the same again still to pick. Most will go into the freezer because it’s only me that likes them. I can then take out a few at a time as and when I want some. I’ve topped and tailed them ready to bag up. Or I might use freezer boxes instead because some how I’ve managed to accumulate hundreds of the things, and they enrage me by toppling over inside the cupboard in an unnecessarily extravagant and messy manner when I go in for something else, like the toaster or popcorn machine.
I keep thinking it’s Friday today. It isn’t. What’s all that about, then?
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