I’m not particularly keen on pigeons.
They are pests in the city and they are pests in the countryside.
They will roost almost anywhere, eat anything and make the most smelly, dirty mess. Yuck!!
I’m not alone in my disliking; my niece is unreasonably fearful of them and there are lots of people who invest a lot of hours in the pursuit of killing them.
Someone who illustrates his own disliking in a much more entertaining way is Max of course.
He diligently guards the bird feeders (when he’s not helping his greedy little self to anything that falls to the ground!!) and goes charging into the garden to skidaddle them whenever his vigilance has faltered and they’ve had the temerity to return!
His pursuit of them doesn’t stop there though, there is a barn on a walk that we do over the weekends that has doves in it and he clearly doesn’t distinguish, they’re all the same as far as he is concerned.
The noise he makes is deafening and reverberates around the barn. Bales don’t get in his way, machinery is no deterrent and once he is on his mission, he is difficult to drag away.
Needless to say, the pigeons (or doves for that matter) don’t hang around for long with that kind of din but the sight of a raging terrier stotting about on the ground below them must be more amusing than truly terrifying.
One of my favourite birds is the Wren.
This gloriously sunny weekend was very welcome and so was the sight of a Wren while we were out on a walk.
We were severely chastised by this particular Wren who I suspect is trying to build a nest near to where I had chosen to sit.
I love these pretty and perky little birds, not just for their size but how their size is completely disproportionate to their bravery.
We are vast mountainous creatures compared to a Wren but there is little, if any hesitation when it comes to telling us off .
If we have had the temerity to step over the invisible line that surrounds and protects her little haven, we will be subjected to a barage of chipping and chatting that comes with an urgency and tone that leave little doubt that she is cross!
I wasn’t disappointed.
It is completely hilarious and quite disarming. I hope she settled back to the job in hand none the worse for having to stop what she was doing to tick us off for getting too close.
Max is not really a digger.
He certainly hasn’t made any unwelcome holes in our garden or started burrowing under the fence in bid for freedom of any kind.
One thing guaranteed to get those little paws peddling at the soil though is a mole hill!
There are quite a few around at the moment and even though it has been wet, snowy and freezing cold for what seems like an age, it hasn’t deterred the moles who regularly push up in the middle of a lawn, field or grass verge to the annoyance of almost everyone.
Some of the mole hills that have become crusted over, show signs of additional and more recent activity where there is a little extra pile of fresh earth on the top.
That is going to get max digging……
He clearly doesn’t realise (or care perhaps) that once a mole hill is formed, there is very little chance that the mole will still be in it. He leaps on it with huge enthusiasm and dogged determination before the paws start and the soil goes flying all of which is interspersed with occasional snorts and sniffing (just in case it is still there you understand).
If I set my feelings for him aside, and was honest about it, I can’t say that Max is what you’d call much use as terrier. He chases hares & deer when we are out walking, he scuttles off after the squirrels in the park and sees off the pigeons from the garden bird feeder but he’s never caught anything (on the rare occasions he has caught a rabbit it is generally because they are unfortunate enough to have mixxy, poor things).
His failings are completely disproportionate to the enthusiasm and commitment he applies to digging when it is the task in hand and by that measure, he should be a phenomenal success.
Never mind, he keeps trying regardless of the small fact that he will NEVER catch them.