Ten Cute Sparrows, Sitting in a Row.

I used to think that sparrows were the most ordinary, uninteresting birds, but since a couple of pairs started rearing their young outside my bedroom window (a cunning ploy on their part, I am sure) I have become completely sold on them. A few months ago a brood made their debut appearance on the square of lawn right in front of my window, where they dashed about in feverish haste, desperate still to be fed by the parents (so desperate in fact that one pursued an adult dunnock around for some minutes, before realising its mistake). Such adorable little balls of pale grey fluff could not fail to melt my heart, and they shot straight to the top of the baby bird Cuteness list, toppling the baby robins from what had seemed a secure and unshakeable first place.

The other day, a second brood appeared - actually I think it might be two broods, there are so many of them (I counted fourteen under the bird feeder the other day, including adults) - and they are as cute as the last lot! After a few days of pleading with their parents to be mouth-fed, they have been learning to forage for themselves, some attempts being more successful than others (the attempt to eat grass seeds that were still attached to a piece of grass three times the length of the sparrow didn't work so well) and last Friday morning about ten of them experimented with a First Wash in the bird bath. The sight of those sparrows all wet and bedraggled would certainly have melted my heart, had it not been completely and utterly liquidated already. Afterwards they lined themselves up in rows, some on the wooden fencing surrounding the oil tank, some on top of the oil tank, some on the outermost branches of the privet hedge, and still others - the most intrepid ones - perching on old twigs of dead ivy on the end wall of next door's house, and preened themselves dry in the sunshine.