Monday, 14 June 2010
There are lots of young birds in the garden, most all of them entirely capable of feeding themselves. Yet still some many squawk and screech for their parents to bring titbits. The blue tits seem to be are the most demanding. They flit from twig to stem, fluttering their baby wings and widening their cavernous gapes.
The two in the following photos caught my attention last week.
'Where's my mum? Where's my dad? Where are they? I'm hungry, they should be here. Mum? Dad?'
'I'll have to help myself. Mmm, this is good, nice and fatty. This'll put muscles under my feathers but I wish Mum and Dad would come. I want them to feed me.'
'At last! Dad, where have you been, Dad? Where's Mum? I'm hungry, Dad. Dad, Dad, I'm hungry, Dad. Dad, Dad, are you listening, Dad? I'm hungry.'
'Son, your mother and I are exhausted. We're still feeding you and your brothers and sisters and it's time you looked after yourselves.'
'Dad, Dad, I'm hungry. Feed me!'
'Son, I told you, I'm worn out. Look at me. My feathers are falling out and I'm losing weight while you put it on. Please, please, be quiet now.'
The poor bedraggled adult looked ready to collapse. I think his son must have listened and told his siblings because this week none of the young blue tits are begging!