Superstitious? I’m not. Not in the least. So, when a recently fledged blackbird flew into the lounge and started bashing itself against the window, trying to get out, I wasn't fazed.

After all, those Old Wives’ tales of birds in the house bringing bad news (actually, terrible news) came about when people in the olden days – the 1980s, according to my 12 year old son - made stuff up to try and explain natural occurrences.

My incident happened during the recent hot weather when the patio doors were open to get some air moving in the house. I popped my head into the lounge to see what a slight noise was all about and there it was - a vulture sized blackbird viciously attacking its own reflection. Unfortunately, the bird was on the inside.

I did what anyone would do in that situation, jumped backwards and slammed the door shut. I took a few breaths and peeked inside. It looked back at me. It pooped some purple gooey stuff on the windowsill then started to jump up and down in it. Door shut. More breaths. Another peak. More poop. From the bird. A turdus merula, no less.

Now, I like plants, I like gardening and I like wild birds. They are great in the garden and are currently doing a fine job of clearing up the local snail population judging from the empty snail shells around the paths in the veg garden. I love listening to them. I feed them. I’m good to them. I shoo away a local black cat on the hunt for them. So why poop on my sofa?

Anyway, I plucked up some courage and, armed with a tea towel, I entered the room. It, the bird, stopped and fixed me with a beady eye. It then did that creepy fluttering thing half way up the window, and then down into the ever-increasing sea of purple gloop.

My first attempt at gently calming the bird, covering it and carrying it out was unsuccessful. Tea towel turning purple. Second attempt, the bird escaped before I could get at it. Third attempt was successful and, with ever so gentle and caring hands, I eased the bird outside to join its family members who had, really, descended onto the patio to see where Purple Pooping Pete had gone (naming him has helped me get over the trauma). 

Pete sat under the garden table and looked at me. I looked at him. Do birds wink? I think they do. And off he went chirping away to do whatever blackbirds do. It’s a wild guess about wild birds but I reckon they eat berries, and lots of them.

Other wildlife related incidences to prove plants are a better bet:

  • As a student (in mediaeval times according to our 12 year old son) I woke to find slug trails on my pillow. I still don’t snore.
  • Whilst living in Sri Lanka, I found a snake in the wardrobe. Apparently, it wasn’t too dangerous (define ‘too’). Google ‘dangerous snakes of Sri Lanka.’