Daily Larry & friends: December - Wildlife Delights 2011

Friday, December 30, 2011

December - Wildlife Delights 2011

December

2nd December

Water droplet

Little Larry

Starlings

3rd December

Little Larry

4th December

Starlings

Dandelion

5th December

House sparrows

Little Larry

6th December

Little Larry sings to me

8th December

Little Larry

Hydrangeas

Grey day

9th December

Little Larry

Elgar

Starlings

10th December

Little Larry

Starlings

Sedum

11th December

Little Larry

Elgar

12th December

Little Larry

The *other* robin - Mrs Larry perhaps?

13th December

Little Larry

Dramatic skies

Mrs Elgar

14th December

500 for Blipfoto - 500th blip goes to Elgar!

15th December

Little Larry

16th December

Little Larry

Mrs Larry

18th December

Elgar

Little Larry

20th December

Male bullfinch

Little Larry

Both Elgar & Little Larry

21st December

Elgar

Little Larry

Lichen

Feeding the masses

Golden

22nd December

Little Larry

Elgar

23rd December

Festive

Little Larry

24th December

Male bullfinch

Elgar

Little Larry

25th December

Little Larry

26th December

Droplets

Elgar

27th December

Little Larry

Hydrangea

Mushrooms

28th December

Little Larry

Elgar

Feverfew

The flower I don't know

Hawthorn leaf

29th December

Little Larry

Elgar

30th December - Later!

31st December - Tomorrow!

No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

Robin's aren't just for Christmas (2011)

Just now, it seems I’ve known them for ever. The dearest, sweetest - and I suppose, red-est - friends I’ve ever had. Two robins, one called Larry Legs and the other (one of his fledglings), Little Larry. Although as I write this, he’s not so little anymore.

It was in April, in fact, that I first noticed a very distinctive, elegant bird, gazing at me from out of the hawthorn. A robin unmistakably. But not just any old robin. It was his legs. Long and thin like stilts. Back straight as a Royal.

Continued...

I’d just started to feed the garden birds live mealworms - easy when you get used to it - to help them feed their young. At first they stayed away, uncertain of what was on offer. ‘That’s no worm,’ I heard them tweet. So I drowned a few and left them on the bird table (live ones would have crawled off).

And that seemed to work - except for the bird I’d seen in the hawthorn. He was having none of it. I could see the table from out of my study window, and there was the robin staring straight back at me. Then he started to have a tantrum. I stood mesmerised.

He picked up a dead worm, stamped his feet, then threw it back on the table. Not just once, but repeatedly. This bird was angry. And he was telling me in no uncertain terms. ‘I want live - these things are dead!’

Continued...

And that was the beginning of a beautiful relationship. I sped outside, placed a bowl of live worms on the granite mushroom - a proper, authentic one - then sat on the bench and waited. He came immediately. The small robin on stilts. He gobbled up a few and then took a couple more away. Within minutes he was back. I’d won his appetite but, as yet, not his heart.

Now I’m one those people who can’t help naming some of the wild creatures who come in regularly to the garden. I have, for example, Mr. & Mrs. Lupin the hedgehogs, Jeremy the bank vole and Palmer (after Samuel) the barn owl.

But what was I to call this amazing robin? Then I remembered the Bonzo Dog Do Dah Band (how strange the mind is). One of them was called Larry Legs. Perfect.

Continued...

Larry (with Mrs. Larry) was clearly raising a family. He started coming to me every day. I’d put out food for all the other birds. But Larry just wanted complete, personal attention. He’d stand upright on the bench, flap his wings as if begging, and then follow me into the garage where he knew I kept the worms. He’d perch on the dustbin lid, watching me open the box. Once the worms were on the ground (his own little patch) Larry would whizz down, pack them in his beak, and then fly off like a little red arrow to feed the scrum of gaping mouths in the nest.

I photographed Larry with a passion. And he took to modelling almost as much as to worms. I never encouraged him to feed from my hand, but one day he had no choice. He was surrounded by dozens of demanding house sparrows and tut-tutting, scolding blackbirds - notably Mr. & Mrs. Elgar and their siblings, the Godzillas (but that’s another story).

So, being Larry, he simply jumped the queue. He flew straight onto my hand where I’d quickly placed a few worms.

And then came the moment. I suppose it’s the sudden realization that you’re in love and that you’re loved in return.

Continued...

Instead of taking one of the wriggling victims on my hand immediately, Larry paused. He looked straight into my eyes and held them for several seconds. It said everything. A precious moment in time. This was trust, respect, an understanding between both of us. ‘I will always look after you Larry Legs,’ I said. And he knew it.

Late in July, Larry appeared with two fledglings. (I never did locate the nest but I knew it was somewhere close to the front garden.) A few days later, while dad sat high up on a branch singing - as dads do - I stood watching the children. One of them hopped to the front, and I began to take his picture. He let me get closer and closer. I switched over to a macro lens. And suddenly I was inches from his beak. The shots were amazing.

Continued...

The events which unfolded from hereon have, I suppose, taken over much of my life. For this was the start of Little Larry. Not only a chip off the old block. But I have to think, a bird simply from somewhere else. Numinous, more intelligent than any of us. He knows something we don’t know. And that’s all I know. Except that I’m crazy about Little Larry.

I’ve watched this little bird practically every day, photographing his transformation from a speckled brown fledgling into a brand new robin with a smart grey school cap and red blazer.

Throughout Little Larry’s development, Larry Legs watched over him - his offspring following him around and copying all of his habits. He would hop into the garage after him and stand at my feet as if begging too.