The Forgotten Small Bird

Dunnocks are one of the Diary's favourite birds, not least because they are so un-noticeable. They're the sort of bird that minds its own business, that has its own quiet agenda, the forgotten small bird of the British garden. In fact, if most people were asked to describe a dunnock, their answer would probably be 'A What?'

Dunnocks, to go with their low profile, are drab brown and grey, spend most of their life creeping around on the ground and under bushes - so much so that they often look like a scurrying mouse - and have a pathetic small cry which sounds like 'tweep!' Yet they have tremendous personality. They're one of the early risers, a bird who's out and about and looking sharp long before your lazy chaffinch has thought about stirring. And they're remarkably unafraid, coming close when the morning grain is distributed, almost to the point where they will feed from an outstretched hand.

When a noisy crowd of chaffinches, goldfinches and tits is squabbling over the peanut feeders, or a pile of starlings are making a mess of the bird table, look closely, because the dunnock will be no part of this chaos. Instead he'll be nipping around the edge of things, picking up all the delectable scraps that have been scattered by those with poor table manners.

Yet dunnocks can be remarkably aggressive - they're a close relative of the robin, so one would expect it. In spring, the males make a big show of themselves, flicking their tail and wings to attract a female's attention, and will chase a rival out of the garden and for quite a distance beyond.

It is, perhaps, a sad reflection of the way life takes it out on the quiet and the unassuming that the dunnock is one of the cuckoo's favourites when it comes to choosing a nest to invade.