There’s been all sorts of naughtiness going on this summer in my garden – and maybe yours too. Dunnocks!
They may look drab at first glance but this abundant resident, a shade smaller than the House Sparrow it is often confused with, has what you might consider to be a rather colourful private life.
Although the Dunnock is often called the Hedge Sparrow it is not a member of the Sparrow family. It is Britain’s only representative of the Accentor group and has a high altitude relative – the Alpine Accentor – an inhabiter of rocky mountain in southern Europe.
But our familiar bird reaches unsurpassed high jinks of its own down in the bushes and is reckoned to exhibit unique behaviour in the British bird world. Dunnocks are polygynandrous. In other words, both sexes may have other partners during the breeding season.
Some females can be polyandrous – having two male partners, and the males may be polygynous – serving two females.
It has even been known for some to enjoy what I’d describe as an ‘orgynothology.’
This is where up to three males shack up with as many as four females. Life expectancy is so short for Dunnocks that they often like to take every opportunity to leave behind a few descendants. And the more the merrier approach appears to pay off in terms of breeding success.
A minority appear to be monogamous but I wonder if the males in these relationships can be certain their females are being faithful. There she is, grubbing around for invertebrates under the shrubs or on the lawn, and the male apparently returns for a quick encounter.
Trouble is, it may not be her mate. Some males clearly have no manners and with a deft peck quickly remove the real ‘hubby’s’ sperm before depositing their own.
Maybe every male can never be certain the ensuing chicks are its own. But unlike many a human philanderer, the ‘likely dads’ show some responsibility by at least helping to feed the ravenous youngsters.
Sex mad they may be but funnily enough it is not easy to sex Dunnocks. The adults all have the same ‘black streaks on brown’ backs, bluish grey ‘scarf’ and chin, subtle brown/orange ear-coverts, and reddish eyes. So, unless they are mating, I never quite know if I’m seeing a male or a female.
Judging from the many sightings daily around the garden and the regular singing from various song posts, often deep in the foliage, I’ve been hosting an extended family of busy parents who have either moved in together or whose nesting territories overlap.
The juveniles, with a pale bill base and a dark eye, have been hanging around with their ‘parents’ and are easier to identify – if you can get close enough.
Like most busy mums with many hungry mouths to feed, Dunnocks are always on the go, shopping on the ground in a seemingly endless search for food.
And if they are unlucky then they can find themselves rushed off their poor little pink feet. They are targets for Cuckoos and have twice been recorded in Cranleigh as this brood parasite’s host species. That’s when a big family of willing helpers around you must come in really handy.
Watch out for their frequent wing flicking which led to them being known in the 1800s as the ‘shufflewing’. They do it to try and attract a mate although, due to such infidelity within this species, I am surprised they find it necessary. But apparently they also wing flick to ward off rivals from their territories.
It is difficult to see what insects they are eating but the constant pecking suggests they have to work so hard because they are feeding on such small snacks.
Maybe that is why I see them always out ‘shopping’ in the winter months. Only the coldest weather seems to persuade them to visit my bird feeding station.
This year my Dunnocks have been ever present in the garden. I usually hear one of them first, singing a scratchy, cheerful two second warble.
Back in April, I saw an adult regularly popping in and out of an ornamental conifer next to where I was sitting down to enjoy a cuppa.
I discovered a beautiful little mossy nest, lined with feathers and some strands of what I identified as my own hair that I’d hung out in March for birds to recycle. Snuggled within the bedding were five shiny sky-blue eggs that duly hatched safely and fledged.
Some weeks later I saw some shaking in the tree as adults popped in and out. There were now a huddle of newly hatched smaller siblings in the same nest.
The parents, or maybe just one of the original pair, had clearly been at it again…
