Life, Love and Death of a Wren
Yesterday I
witnessed at very close quarters the death of a wild creature that I had come
to know well. He was a fiery little cock Wren whose territory included our
garden. Although he only weighed the same as a 20p piece but he possessed a
huge personality. Anne and I came to know
him well and witness many of the dramas of his life through the winter spring
and summer until yesterday when he was killed by a male Sparrow Hawk in our
garden.
Last autumn
I put two bat boxes up in a big Ash tree on the edge of the garden. As the
winter days began to close in I noticed that a male Wren was roosting in them.
At last light he would sneak quietly up to the tree and then squeeze up into
the box through the slit in the bottom. During winter storms I would sometimes lie
in bed listening to the wind and rain battering against the window and picture
that little Wren nestled dry and protected in the bat box.
We watched
him build his first nest of the year in the Ivy clad cliff just outside our
kitchen window flying tirelessly back and forth countless times carrying moss
and grassy stalks. Then we watched him trying to attract a female, filling the
garden and our kitchen with his song. When a beautiful little female turned up
he went into overdrive increasing the volume of his song and opening his wings
wide to impress her. It worked and she began to carry fine fluffy seed heads
and feathers into his nest to make the final lining before laying her clutch of
eggs there.
We never saw
the chicks from that nest although the eggs definitely hatched because both
parents carried food to it for over a week. Maybe that nest failed or maybe we
were away on the couple of days when the chicks actually left the nest, we will
never know.
The pair
built another nest someway south on the same cliff. We never found exectly
where it was because it was not in our garden. We had begun feeding the birds small
mealworms from a pot. Our courtyard filled up with Blackbirds, Dunnock, Great
Tit, Blue Tit, House Sparrows, Robin and of course our pair of Wrens. They all
had hungry chicks in the nest so the courtyard was a flutter from dawn to dusk.
Although the smallest visitors our Wrens had by far the strongest presence. The
cock Wren was a very noisy bird, filling the garden with his beautiful song. I
am always amazed at the sheer volume of song that is generated and broadcast from
a Wrens tiny body. He might only weigh the same as a 20p piece but in terms of
decibels he was the biggest bird around. Some research has found that ounce for
ounce a Wren’s song is 10 times louder than a cockerel’s crow.
He built
another nest and the pair went for a second breeding attempt. He was everywhere
singing at the top of his voice. He seemed to be repaying us for keeping him
supplied with mealworms by converting their energy into song. If the mealworm
pot emptied the cock Wren would sit on the open kitchen door peering in,
singing and scolding at us, it was deafening inside a room. If we didn’t take
the hint he would fly into the kitchen to get more for himself. He was so
inquisitive and would search around through the pile of boots on the floor or
go into our cupboards looking for goodies like spiders. We both felt the
privilege of sharing our house with him. He wasn’t alone in this and one
morning we had 3 species (Blue Tit, Blackbird and Wren) in at the same time
raiding the mealworm container just inside the door.
Then one
morning I heard the high contact calls of juvenile Wrens coming from the cliff
top bushes. The second brood had fledged and were out and about. Now the
normally noisy cock went into overdrive. He escorted the two chicks everywhere,
always in sight of them but not to close, unless of course he was taking an
item of food to feed them. What puzzled me is that he kept up a constant
rattling chatter of calls which couldn’t fail to draw attention to him. He also
seemed to me to be perching in more open and visible places than he had before.
Wrens are usually rather skulking and stick to cover so this new behaviour was
puzzling as it made him very visible and must have increased his vulnerability
to predators. The female wren was an attentive parent but remained her usual
quiet unassuming self.
I could tell
who was who because the two chicks are a little darker and smoother looking than
their parents. Both chicks stayed deep in cover for the first couple of days
but became more confidant and visible as they got older. The family were our
constant companions because they loved the mealworms we put just outside the
kitchen window.
Yesterday
afternoon I went up into the garden and as usual could hear our cock Wren
churring and chattering. He was sitting in the top of a buddleia bush in his
usual confidant way. My path took me past where he sat perched jauntily on a vertical
twig. I was only about 4 meters away from him when he left his perch and flew
down towards a blackberry thicket.
What
happened next is etched on my memory in slow motion. From out of nowhere a
larger much faster shape appeared and crashed into the thicket in pursuit of
the Wren. A moments thrashing around in the brambles and a male Sparrowhawk
emerged with our cock Wren held tightly in its feet. He flew past me no more
than 3 meters away and as he passed I could clearly see our little Wren hanging
below him. He was still alive, his head hung down and his beak was wide open.
That is the image which sticks so vividly with me. I shouted “You Bastard” as
he passed, which was a pretty pathetic thing for a lifelong naturalist to do.
The garden
seems very empty and quiet now he’s gone. It probably sounds ridiculous thing
to say but that tiny bird filled the garden with his restless energy, beautiful
song and huge personality. We had come to know him as an individual and shared
many of the dramas of that little guy’s life through the cold wet winter, this
year’s successful breeding season and his sudden death. I am not ashamed to say
that I miss.
His mate and
their two young chicks are still coming to feed from the mealworm pot just
outside our back door. It feels good to be able to help them.