make a little birdhouse in your soul

By the time I’d got my camera they’d gone.  We’re having breakfast and watching a pair of blue tits check out this house.  On sunday a great tit had flown in, poked around and then left.  And now he’s back again.

Both blue tits go into the house - obviously measuring up, checking the room sizes - Anniemay’s getting excited; “why don’t we put a sky light in?  It’ll be gloomy in there”.  It’s supposed to be - it’s a bird house.  She’ll be planning an extension next.  I kid you not.

But the real ‘missed blip’ is what happens next. 

The great tit realises he’s been gazumped and flies across to the wall next to our dining room.  Hanging on this wall is a mirror.  He flies up to the mirror and starts pecking at it.  This is where our interpretation of events differs.  

Anniemay; “oh look - he’s kissing his refection - he thinks it’s a mate…”

Me; “no - he’s attacking his refection - the frustration of losing the house to another couple is too much and he’s venting his anger …”

Anniemay;  “don’t you think you’re anthropomorphising this a bit too much?”

Me; “!!@@$$$”

And then the great tit flies off.

This whole exchange - including the excitable old bird - confirms that moving house is stressful enough at the best of times.