The Magpie is a bold and talkative bird, but this little fellow is more vocal than most. Recently fledged, he possesses the bolshie entitlement of a teenager, and will not hesitate in chasing away other Magpies from the table. With the Pigeons his manners improve and he kicks his feet and busies himself with smaller morsels until he musters the courage to take his turn. This morning, though, he is first to the garden and is alone. Squawking and grumbling loudly.
When I open the back door he squeaks off up to the roof. I come outside and begin the daily routine of checking the hanging feeders, cleaning up the bird tables and filling the birdbath with fresh water. I set out fresh seeds and scraps and retreat.

When all have had their fill and have washed behind their ears, they return to the treetops and sing their familiar joyful song.
I delight in this spectacle. Watching the feathered visitors to my garden never ceases to make me smile.