Wuff with the Smooth: Regulus regulus

“Look at the two oldies getting all excited about their new bird table.”

This was me and Herself at Christmas after we’d bought a new ‘bird dining station’ from Homebase. It was basically a long pole with food receptacles installed at various levels. There was a tray for scraps, a seed tube, a fat-ball holder and a water tray and the whole dining station was hastily planted in the garden outside the living room window.

The reason we’d bought the dining station in the first place was – obviously – so that we could feed the birds but also, so that said bird feed could be kept off the ground and out of the clutches of the Hairy Fool. I long ago discovered that any stale bread left out for the birds would be quickly consumed by said Hairy Fool and then he’d chunder the whole lot up later in the day, preferably on the carpet in the sun room and preferably then then tramping around in the mess.

Anyways…

After the diner had been installed I wondered how long it would take for our feathered friends to notice and subsequently tuck into their free lunch. The answer: Less than five minutes.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. After placing the pole in the garden, I entered the house, washed my hands and then positioning myself at the living room window. Already, three blue tits had taken up residence on the fat balls, pecking and chirping and living their best lives. I watched in awe as a great tit arrived followed by a robin and a chaffinch. Then a wren appeared during a lull in the hectivity. One part of me was thinking ‘wow’ whilst the other was suggesting, ‘calm down lads, that free grub will run out if yous aren’t careful.’

The next day, a Saturday, I had to take a box of rubbish to the dump because the blue bin was overflowing. So, armed with an enormous cardboard box filled with crushed beer cans, empty baked bean tins, plastic milk cartons and associated rubbish, I manoeuvred my way out the backdoor towards the car. However, as I was sidling alongside the car, I suddenly felt an unforeseen obstacle at my feet: The Waff. But as I couldn’t see around the massive box in my arms, I had to nudge the hound with my toe suggesting in no uncertain terms, “Get outta the road, dawg.” Surprisingly, this instruction failed to have the desired effect and Waffle stood his ground.

Not wanting to stand on a toe or a tail, I suggested more forcefully, “Move it, fool!” with another, less gentle nudge. No joy.

“Seriously, dog!”

Shifting the box to one side so that I could see what the matter was, I looked down only to find His Hairyness nose to beak with one of the smallest birds I’d ever seen. I carefully placed the box on the ground and then went down on my knees for a better look at the goldcrest.

As you can see from the photo (I shooed Waffle away before he showed both of us up), the goldcrest was a beauty: Minute and fine and exquisite.

Then I remembered the small bang I’d heard minutes earlier when I was packing up the box. The bird must have flown into the window and stunned itself.

My heart sinking in my chest that the poor bird was thus stricken and might croak in front of eyes, I tried to remember what I knew about treating an injured bird. Then I remembered I knew absolutely nothing about treating an injured bird.

“Do one, dog!” I snapped at Waffle who’d slunk back onto the scene with a sniffy nose.

Then the goldcrest fluttered its wings and my heart did the same. It shook itself and fluttered again and in the blink of an eye had flown into the air and perched on the corner of the wall of the house and looked down on me.

I am almost ashamed to say how much joy this brought into my life at that moment. Almost. I had thought the bird broken in some unseen way but then it miraculously came back to life.

The next day (you might guess where this is going), I stopped by the bird dining station to check if any more rations were required and who was clinging to the fat balls but the vivacious little goldcrest, resplendent in his winged finery.

THREE THINGS

One: The air in and around and above the dining station is now a hive – or rather a nest – of activity and each day seems to bring a new bird hitherto unseen. At the time of writing, there are two collared doves enjoying a romantic meal for two.

Two: If it hadn’t been for Waffle we’d never have bought the bird feeder.

Three: And if it had been any dog other than the Hairy (albeit, gentle) Fool, Mr Goldcrest likely wouldn’t have been around to enjoy any future lunches.

ADDENDUM

The smallest bird in Ireland or Britain (most people think that is the wren), the goldcrest is known in European folklore as ‘the king of the birds.’

And now you know.