According to John’s brother’s bird book, bullfinches don’t come to bird tables, but ours do. Need, or maybe just greed must have persuaded ours to change their habit as they have become very faithful feeders, mingling apparently happily with all the others – robins, blue, coal and great tits, chaffinches, goldfinches, even the odd dove and pheasant. Boots watches them all from the warmth and safety of the kitchen window, but fortunately any killer instinct has passed with the years (she is every bit of 14 now, which is quite a stately age for a cat although she is still quite capable of rushing up a tree, or even chasing her tail when the mood takes her).
When he isn’t trotting down to the little Parwich shop-in -the-pub to buy more bird seed and nuts John is out in all weathers with his new camera and lens. The birds are beginning to very much take him for granted, which is good and he has managed to get some lovely photos of the bullfinches. I hope I won’t have mangled them too much by the time I have loaded them here!