


A pair of starlings, Sturnus vulgaris, on the Nethermead were locked in combat the other day. Literally locked, as one had the other’s legs in its grasp. The fight went on and on, until the captive one either broke free or the captor relented. Then they flew off in the same direction, and it looked all the world like a chase. The four of us who saw it, all experienced birders, had never seen anything like it before. (Keep these images in mind for my upcoming post on Walton Ford, who birds his paintings with many a starling.)
We can thank William Shakespeare for the presence of starlings in the North America. An Eurasian species, they were introduced here because some idjits wanted all the birds mentioned in the Bard to be around us. First Henry IV, I.3, Hotspur: “Nay, I’ll have a starling shall be taught to speak/Nothing but “Mortimer,” and give it him/To keep his anger still in motion.” (Starlings being the poor man’s myna bird, fine mimics.)
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