And as I lifted the camera to aim, the tui said, quite clearly:
Don’t fuck with me, boy. Don’t even think it.
I could understand why. Here was the perfect gig, lots of sweet sweet nectar, flax and bottlebrush and he [I assume for no good reason] spends most of his dinnertimes looking out for a pair of psychotically overprotective blackbirds who keep dive bombing him every time he settles in for a good noshing.
Being a pretty hard to fluster kind of bird though, he just stands his ground, turning to face the much smaller blackbirds with all his neck and chest feathers ruffed out and full, occasionally bugling a little at them as if to say is that all you’ve got? Come back again, sucker! and R., the girls and I watch on in amazement as the blackbird tag team fail to make him move.
So yeah, I’m not going to bother you too much more, my friend.
