I recieved this photograph in an e-mail, its an quail, an very unusual bird to have in your garden! and such a fabulous tree full of spring blossom.
and my garden won't get such exotic visitors, due to the continuos ripping out of hedges its rare to see anything at all, a lot of starlings and thats about it.
I'm a Starling. . . me Darling. a poem by Pam Ayres
We're starlings, the misses, meself and the boys.
We don't go round hoppin', we walks,
We dont go in for this singing all day
And twittering about, we just squawks.
We don't go in for these fashionable clothes
Like old Missel Thrush and his spots,
Me breast isn't red, there's no crest on me head,
We've got sort of, hardwearing . . . dots.
We starlings, the misses, meself and the boys,
We'll eat anything that's about,
Well, anything but that old half coconut,
I can't hold it still. I falls out.
What we'd rather do is wait here for you
To put out some bread for the tits,
And then when we're certain you're there by the curtain,
We flocks down and tears it to bits.
But we starlings, the misses, meself and the boys,
We reckon that we're being got at.
You think for two minutes, them finches and linnets,
You never sees them being shot at.
So the next time you comes out to sprinkle the crumbs out,
And there's starling there, making a noise,
Don't you be so quick to heave a half a brick,
Its the misses, meself and the boys!