In barely a couple of days, the character of the garden seems to have changed, as though the birds had been watching the calendar for the clocks moving forward. There are fewer coming to the feeders and suddenly the spug motel is become a house of ill repute. There are undignified skirmishes between males that start on the lawn and end up in furious rustlings in the greenery, whilst one pair, a male and his female, take to the top of the hedge, shamelessly copulating whilst the chaos swirls around them.
thekitchensinkbirdwatcher 