At Home with Wild Nature 



Mentioning a robin reminds me of a curious incident 

 I witnessed in my orchard one day. During the latter 

 part of the Great War I tried my hand, like many 

 another old man useless for active service, at increasing 

 the country's food supply by keeping pigs. I fed my 

 intelligent and affectionate animals and washed out their 

 abode every day, and welcomed the presence of two 

 small pensioners a robin and a common mouse that 

 lived mainly upon the unconsidered trifles to be picked 

 up in and around my sty. One evening the latter 

 popped out of his hole to seize a titbit that had ebbed 

 over the side of the pigs' trough above him, but the 

 robin had also noticed it from his perch in a 

 privet hedge close at hand, and his heart was filled 

 with malice and envy. Instead of snatching the morsel 

 of food, which was easily within his reach and speed, 

 he descended upon the " wee tim'rous beastie " like a 

 winged fury. The unfortunate mouse was struck broad- 

 side on, and after rolling over and over was fain to pick 

 himself up and beat a hasty, if undignified, retreat to 

 the safety of his hole, leaving his selfish aggressor in 

 undisputed possession of all the privileges. 



Birds sometimes quarrel over the possession of prey. 

 Whilst crossing a disused rifle range in my neighbour- 

 hood one morning I suddenly came upon a jay and 

 a pair of red-backed shrikes, engaged in a great 

 scuffle in a grassy opening on the edge of a thick 

 forest of thorn bushes. To my surprise the jay was 



'5 



