There we were, Friday evening and the boss and I were enjoying a glass of wine and watching a recording of Vera when there's a thud on one of the living room windows. Another bird strike.
The two terriers are kept indoors, much to their fury, and out I go to look for the little feathered corpse. Huddled under a garden seat is a tiny scrap of feathers that turns out to be a Reed Warbler, well we think it's a Reed Warbler after consulting books and the web.
One of our farmer friends calls them LBJs or little brown jobs, that seems to cover a lot of small birds to us.
The bird is a bit groggy and slumps in the palm of my hand, claws all over the place, but after ten minutes or so 'he' begins to come round and perches on my thumb for a few more minutes and then flies away to cries of 'watch out for the sparrow hawk', you haven't come all the way from sub-Saharan Africa to be a canapé.
How does a few grammes of feathers and flesh fly those distances?
