"Bloody tree nits," Francis grumbled from his perch in the apple tree. The tits and finches had been at it again, playing Knock Knock Ginger in the ivy on the birch, disturbing his mid-morning nap. Francis was feeling particularly crotchety today. It was damp and windy, and Sandra had been on at him to find food for their young 'un. The humans were slacking when it came to keeping the feeder stocked up, leaving only seeds in those blasted containers suitable for the smaller birds. This meant more work for Francis, leaving him to forage in the grass for scraps from the trees.
The tree nits tittered excitedly as they raided another tree and flew off. They lived a care free life, playing and feeding all day. Travelling in gangs, they had the illusion of safety in numbers and barely gave a thought to the dangers that often lurked high above the gardens. Francis envied them.
His good friend Marcus had been taken out by a sparrowhawk the other week. Sparrowhawks were common enough to the area, but this was the first time one had appeared in these gardens. She had sat there plain as day on one of the lawns, for an hour at least, leisurely tearing poor Marcus apart. "That won't be me," Francis resolved. He shifted on his feet and ruffled his feathers a bit more for warmth. Puffed up to look bigger, he hunched over and pretended to be a carnivorous carrion eater while thinking over Marcus's fate.
Suddenly, there was an immense chattering from nearby which broke Francis out of his depressed musings. The corvids were getting agitated. It was too late in the day for their early morning manoeuvres, and too early for the evening flocks. Looking to the sky, Francis could see two buzzards circling above the . They had again invaded the corvid air space, and were taunting the crows and jackdaws. Every so often they would break from circling and swoop down just above the tree tops, "keee"-ing jeeringly at the roosting corvids. Pairs of crows scrambled to meet them, flying just close enough to fire warning dive bombs, but not close enough to connect. Eventually, they escorted the buzzards away from the gardens and flew back to their trees having completed another mission successfully, cackling cheerfully.
The buzzards were not a threat to the garden birds. They lived further up the valley in the woods of the great park, but every so often they would come down to the gardens and run exercises with the crows. To the casual observer, it would look like the buzzards and crows were always at odds with eachother. But to an old grump like Francis it was clear the buzzards' intrusion was merely a bit of fun and practice for the crows. They liked to be prepared for the day a real predator would come, and the buzzards were always happy to oblige.
"Fat lot of use they were to Marcus though!" he exclaimed bitterly. Francis sighed and shifted from foot to foot again. It was time for him to get back to foraging. He flew silently over to the birch to see if the tree nits had left any ivy berries for him to take back for Sandra. She would have to make do with those until the humans filled the feed tray again.