Thinking of Len

Len Howard had the closest relationship with great tits. The great tits are not massively keen on me.

Bobbit is a different story.

I reread the sections on robins as I was worried that for two days, Bobbit had hardly sung and seemed to be bundling himself up in the hedge silently. Howard seemed to suggest that when song is not needed to assert territory, robins don't sing so much. David Lack makes the same point. That was reassuring. Len also talked about how companionable her Dobs would be with her.

Len Howard says though that when he performed subsong, he would close his eyes or be not focused on anything, whereas Bobbit will look at me. She also said that sometimes, in subsong, he moved his head from side to side - remember what I thought was the seduction dance but turned out to be a threat posture also used in early courtship? But Bobbit doesn't do that in subsong, and Howard doesn't mention it in any other context.

Things with Son of Bob were even stranger today (3rd April, as it happens). In the morning, he did sing, for a long time, in the front lilac, before hopping around my recycling bins. He was not interested in suet. And all the time he was singing and foraging, he had some grubs in his beak. Which was impressive.

I went out later and he was back and forth to me repeatedly, perching right next to me on the green box - and again, uninterested in suet. He'd look at me expectantly, fly a little way off, look back, maybe come back, fly a little way off again, look back and then go. This happened three times and then I realised he must want something. I decided digging might be the answer. I dug and he watched with interest, hopped down, but then repeated the yo-yo and flew off. Before returning for a fifth time. Did he want me to follow him to wherever he was going? The nest? I waited, but he didn't come back a sixth time. Maybe deciding I was too stupid for words. [What a twit?? - Ed] [Ha, ha. - Crone]

When I went out to feed the fox, there he was again. Looking at me. I stood at the fence and he flew into the neighbour's garden, then flew back, nearly crashed into my face, landed momentarily two inches in front of my nose and flew to his green perch thing.

There was no food left (and Mrs B was squeaking too) so I went in to get some. He'd gone and wasn't interested. As I was heading back inside, he perched on the fence. "Bobby?" I called and he flew to the path and hopped down it nearly to me before rising to the fence again, giving me one last look, and flying off.

WTF? [Indeed. - Ed.]