The year is on the turn. So writes our birdwatching correspondent, who can read the signs from the conduct of the tits and finches and others which come to his many feeding devices. For he has noticed in the past week or so that the tits especially, after feeding themselves from the monkey nuts and fat, then climb up onto the big hawthorn trees from which the machines are suspended and poke around among the new leaves and flower-buds and in the crevices for insects to bring to the young. Off went one the other day, he says, with two large, green, fat caterpillars dangling from its beak and God knows what else in its mouth. (Even though only a few yards from these trees, he uses binoculars.)
But his other news concerns a cock pheasant, a fine gaudy creature. Since a shooting estate nearby stopped operating a few years ago, the number of pheasants around has diminished. In fact, the only one he has seen throughout the winter has been this big, iron-nerved cock. First he was seen often pacing around under the bird-feeders, picking delicately here and there, whether at fallen seeds or creatures in the soft earth. There were one or two places not far from the house where he apparently roosted - the ground being well marked with his droppings.
Then, one day it was noticed that the mat outside one of the sliding glass doors, which lies under an overhanging balcony, was spotted with the same droppings. It seems he was coming in, during the hard weather, anyway, and then, when the household awoke, making off. The mat eventually had to be thrown away. Even when the bird saw the dog on the inside, he took his time in moving off. Very undignified for the dog to see that the bird just ran from him, not flew. Mind you, cock pheasants can run very fast. The dog looked as if it wasn't very interested anyway. Probably just lazy or getting on in years.
Our friend writes that the winged forktails from Africa haven't yet come back to skim the flies over the river and add interest to his daily logging of the bird life around him. Y