A Survivor and a quandary.

This little Chaffinch must be at least 3 months old now. It's a rubbish image, blurred, taken through double glazing and generally a space filler. Or is it?

I noticed him perched on the top of the lilac support pole as he dried himself after his morning shower. He was also around yesterday, apart from the other birds, and happy just to sit and rest. This morning I watched him for 30 minutes or so using my binos, it was only when he went to feed from the bird feeder scraps that I saw the reason for his pudding like appearance; although he has legs, and stubby feet, he has no toes. He gets on with his life, struggles to feed, roost and maintain his cleanliness.

So here is a conundrum for you, or in my case a quandary I find myself in.

Occasionally I have to put small birds out of their misery/pain as they slam into the conservatory, or I find them savaged from a one sided altercation with a neighbouring cat. This morning I sat and fretted about this little lad's future as Autumn takes hold and Winter's inevitable hard times get closer. Will he survive? Will he be able to roost with the other birds and stay warm, or will he be excluded as part of the 'survival of the fittest' routine which is the way of the world.

The conunundrum? My emotions are stirred by the plight of this wee chap. I am already planning how to net him to see if there is disease on his legs or are they simply malformed. If they are malformed, he has achieved a great deal already, is safe here and may, with luck, survive. So I'm a bit of a softy. Mrs Booty works as a Coroner's Officer; she sees the results of suicides, murders, car crashes, natural deaths, deals with it all and the families who are left bereaved. I remain largely untouched by the effects man has on man, but worry inordinately or in a disproportionate way about the suffering of a small bird.

The foregoing has probably surprised Talpa, as he knows how involved I was in training my dog to work with me when out on the estuary; I have, in my time, shot geese, duck, pigeon and pheasant; I ate what I shot. However I soon realised that although the fraternity of the rough shooter is almost unique, I would far rather observe the birds and learn about them.

Sometimes we change as we go through life, our attitudes and prejudices are reviewed, binned or hardened, what I suppose I am saying is that you cannot ever tell a book by it's cover.