It turns out there was just one pigeon’s egg and it has hatched. I have seen Etheldreda feeding a scrawny, downy squab; the tiny bird stretched up a long neck and food was passed beak to beak. Once fed, the squab was tucked up out of sight again. Now I can worry about...
Spread across the village green is the remains of a fearsome picnic: pigeon feathers. It was probably a fox. My thoughts fly to Etheldreda and her partner Ethelred. Whose feathers lie ravaged on the grass? Are the eggs safe in my garden under their canopy of spent...
Sitting writing in my hammock I look up to see a pigeon watching me from among the roses on the pergola. It would be a safe place to nest as the thorny sprays keep the cats away, if only the daft bird could build a decent nest. Unfortunately for some years the nest...
