High Drama in the Garden

I was in The Bunkie studio painting when I heard an enormous commotion in the garden. Birds were squawking, Howard was shouting and I could tell at a glance it was a Dennis-related tragedy that had been waiting to happen. I ran over to the coral bark maple where two large, very vocal robins were dive-bombing Dennis who was sitting beside another large bird lying on his side under the tree. As I grabbed Dennis who was examining at the bird with great curiosity and was about to swat at him to see what would happen next, I could see the bird's little beak moving as he chirped out his last.

From inside the house, where I deposited Dennis, I then saw quite an extraordinary sight. Dozens of birds were congregating on the branches of the tree just over the back fence. All different species. The Robins were still very upset and vocal as they perched on the lowest branches they could while still being beyond reach. The sound was amazing as well - sounds of upset coming from all the bird witnesses.

I recognized the attacked bird. The previous day I'd been watching the front garden where the Robin couple, who have been hanging around for some weeks now, had been hopping and pecking their way around the newly dug final bed of the new landscape. Mr. Bird, our now victim, a large thrush of some kind, had made a play for some of the action and had been dispatched in no uncertain terms by the male Robin. "Get lost, this is my territory".

Now he lay dead under the Japanese maple.

The birds now were behaving like onlookers at some big accident (which it was) and I watched them for a awhile before returning to The Bunkie. We'd dispose of the bird later. However, after 10 minutes or so I looked out the window at the dead bird under the tree to see that he was gone. Walking outside I checked under and around the tree. There were several big gray feathers on the ground but no sign of the bird. He was alive after all and had crawled away somewhere. I was thrilled to see him hopping around the garden, but that was tempered with some sadness as he had a very obviously damaged wing. He couldn't fly, but as the hours passed he seemed to be getting stronger. He started hopping around the garden, munching on bugs, pretty lively despite his injury. I watched him throughout the rest of the day. Later in the early evening, patrolling the perimeter, I found Big Gray Cat who lives down the street in our side garden and shooed him away in short order. I already know that Big Gray Cat is a hunter, as I've seen him on more than one occasion trotting down the center of our road with a dead mouse in his mouth. Between that and all the eagles, hawks and other wildlife in our neighborhood beside The Forest, I had almost no hope that Mr. Bird would survive the night.

Mr. Bird's damaged right wing

But he did, and the next day I could see him getting stronger and more active. All day long  this little brown bird, living in our garden, had taken over completely.  Dennis, firmly in the doghouse, watched from behind the patio French Doors. When he would catch sight of Mr. Bird outside hopping openly around the garden, Dennis' tail would wag, he'd stare intensely and mini-meows would erupt from that little mouth. "Sorry Dennis", I'd say, "Mr. Bird now owns this garden and you're inside until he leaves, for however long that may be."

Dennis in the "doghouse".  Stuck inside, looking out.

Another night passes and I get up in the morning and stand at the large patio door window. There he is! He's survived another night. I start to admire his strength and good luck.

The evening of the third night, I find Big Gray Cat trespassing in our garden, on his hind legs sniffing around the composter. I haven't seen Mr. Bird since the rainstorm this afternoon.