It looks like, as of this evening, that it's down to Blue, Father wren, and the much more subdued, if only in plumage, ha ha, Mother wren.
Going back a couple of weeks they disappeared for a few days...
Mum, Dad and a brown wren with a tail that was blue only on the front...
For the sake of convenience that little one ended up being called Junior, ha ha.
I suspect, using my vast powers of deduction, that young Junior wren was accompanied to by his parents to RMC Duntroon, where he will be undertaking officer training instruction.
I think it's a fine choice of career for a young bird, ha ha.
He'll be back on his first leave before too long, in his crisp olive drab uniform...
His Mother'll dab at her eyes with a handkerchief and his Father will be so puffed up with pride it'll be like he's about to explode, and I'll shake his little wing and say something suitably old bloke like "You're doing us proud, son"... ha ha.
You have to think that keeping track of something that's size of the yolk in a hard boiled chicken egg, that can move at lightning speed, and throw it's voice so the high pitched warble you thought you heard "over there" is no indicator of it's actual location, isn't the easiest thing to do...
And you'd be right, it's not, ha ha.
The second not easiest thing to do is peer carefully out from under the pergola, looking for Burt the kookaburra, who really doesn't like people that much, so if he sees me he'll fly away...
Actually that's not the second not easiest thing to do...
The second not easiest thing to do is stand absolutely still, while trying to peer out, because the wrens have decided that my feet are the most fascinating thing they've encountered today... ha ha.
Little tiny delicate birds dancing round my feet... that's just what I needed, especially when I'm trying to look for something else that doesn't necessarily want to be seen... ha ha.
I know, I know... I'm too good to those birds, to the point where they take it for granted that they can take me for granted, ha ha...
🙂
