I have come to know the little fan club of birds that live around our croft. They follow the person who feeds the hens – it is totally cupboard love.
The other afternoon I noticed there was someone outside shouting loudly so I went out with my camera to see who it was.
Hopping about the place was a wren.
Well, I think it is a wren – please correct me if I am wrong and I will amend this whole blog.
Here in Shetland, we have our own species of wren – Troglodytes troglodytes zetlandicus.
The call was not the usual beautiful trilling wren birdsong.
Oh no. It was more like being shouted at or similar to the rapid fire of a machine gun.
And this little wren, for one so small, is loud, very loud. I can hear him (I shall henceforth assume he is a he for not reason except I will be 50% correct!) when I sit at my desk inside the house.
Monster Cat is not about (he is busy asleep) and there are no other predators about so I am not sure what the wren is shouting about.
He shouts while everyone who would eat him is indoors.
But shout he does. Endlessly. To no one about nothing.
The wren is very tame too and certainly not running away from the noise of my camera or the sight of me trying to creep around the garden looking inconspicuous.
Bloody noisy little bird, though.
I hear him most days. I wonder what he is shouting about.