He ran to the window. 'Which one?' he said.
I said, 'I don't know. How am I supposed to know all their names?'
'No, which bird feeder?' he said.
Ah. Of course. For a moment there, I thought he'd mistaken me for Francis of Assisi, not Fran of Leamington Spa.
We have two bird feeders. They are meant to be squirrel proof but that doesn't stop the rodents from attempting entry. They wrap themselves round the bird feeder, hanging on for grim death, while trying to access the contents. They try every which way: upside-down, downside-up, or suspending themselves from it by their claws, swinging the bird feeder from side to side wildly like someone on a theme park ride.
I wouldn't call myself a bird watcher at all but I do like sitting by the window, watching…