I try to stay neutral, to keep my mind balanced and fair. It is the nature of the beast I tell myself, war is ugly.
But I cannot. I'm rooting for the little guy. There, I freely confess it, I want to see the guy defending his patch win. They didn't ask for this hostility, they're just trying to 'be.'
But they have no choice. They must fight. This is a war in which one force, mighty, arrogant, ever watchful, are threatening to destroy everything they stand for.
So they have risen to the challenge. It will not be a case of roll over. Yes the invaders are massive, better equipped. but the smaller force is determined and dug in.
There have been skirmishes, field battles, snipers and open combat, and yet they-the aggressors- have not gained the upper hand. They fight and regroup, stunned to find that their might is of little use to them in the difficult conditions in which they must fight. But they persist, for they know they will win, they have superior strength on their side and they will brook no defeat. To lose now would be disaster, they would relinquish ground and in the end lose their hold over the zone.
But foolhardy warriors. They have underestimated their enemies' knowledge of the terrain, underestimated the kamikaze nature of the beast, the fight or die mentality.
The enemy will fight to the death, they will protect their loved ones at all cost, they will not be driven from their homes no matter if the crushing weight of the invaders comes to bears. It is win at all cost.
All I can do is watch with breath baited.
I just wish the fuckers would do it quietly.
'Shut up Birdies!' I yelled out my window this morning as the day's round of insults and chatterwoking started at the crack of dawn.'Shut the bloody hell up or I'll ruddy poison the lorraya!'
A mister and missus Blackbird have a nest in on of the dense bushes in my garden where they are raising a brood. The magpies- and they seem to be legion- are trying to find that nest and destroy it. But the blackbirds are some of the most ferocious brave fighters I've ever seen.
Yesterday I sat peering over the top of my computer at them, transfixed for almost twenty minutes as an aerial battle was fought before my very eyes.
A huge magpie had landed in the branches of the sycamore tree, close to the thick bush wherein lies the nest, when missus black bird spotted him and cried a warning. Within seconds an ear splitting 'skree skree skree skree' alarm started and BAM! mister blackbird exploded from the foliage and dive bombed the magpie, flying so close the bigger bird had no option but to drop back to the branch below, a smaller branch that did not support his weight and threw him slightly off balance. Before he had even a split second to settle, mister B had spun and dived him from the other side.
The magpie leaped to soar only to be cut off by a black blur. Pinwheeling, he crashed into the cherry tree with a whump, blossoms scattered across the evening air like snow flakes.
Then came missus B, screeching and beating her wings as though the hounds of hell were beneath her. She is slighter bigger the mister B, but still tiny compared to the magpie, but he is no match for her. She screeched once again and they commenced battle.
Enraged the magpie attacked, flying and turning, leaping from branch to branch but there are two of the little black spitfires and they work in tandem, the bigger bird tried to lure them higher up the branches where his wingspan and strength could come into play, but the blackbirds are clever, they drive him into the lighter tighter twiggier parts of the trees, twisting and turning swooping inches from his face, disorienting him and causing him to chatter with fury.
Finally the magpie broke free from the sticks and targeted Mister B. Mister B dropped a wing and headed for the evergreen flying at an incredible 90 degrees, I felt my heart pound as the magpie tilted to cut him off.
I need not have worried. Before the magpie has flapped twice Missus B came roaring up from holly bough and the black and white beast has no option but to wheel hard to the right. He skimmed the conifer branches and made a haphazard emergency landing.
He was given no time to regroup, Mister B, zoomed past him on an updraft and turning at the last minutes to drop down. He flew so close the wind of his glossy black feather caused another outraged chatter. The magpie gave chase, but in his rage he had been duped to dropping once again to the lower branches where his power weight and wingspan are more hinderance than help.
He was on their turf now, and the black choloitos knew it. With 'skree skrees' rising and speed on their side, they upped the stakes. The attacks were relentless , swooping and whizzing by again and again.
It was over.
With a flurry of wings and a thermal hitch-hike, the magpie rose and flapped to the roof of the house. He chattered and his chatter was answered by his kin. They did not come to his aid and I"m sure he probably thought they are all beak and no pants.
Underneath the holly I saw a black and white flash and I knew the bigger of the cats has been waiting on the sidelines, eager to see if any of the injured might need some 'clearing-up'
Tough shit cat, it was not your day.