A TRAGEDY has unfolded before our eyes. Yards away from our back door. And there was nothing we could do about it. A nest of baby robins was drowned yesterday. Washed out and chilled by the combination of a downpour and then an extremely cold night.

We had previously spotted Mr and Mrs Robin flitting from hanging basket bracket to hanging basket bracket and then into a miniature conifer planted in an old cattle trough. The conifer is at the point where we need to remove it before the roots crack the stone. But we hadn’t and the robins must have thought it an ideal place to nest.

The trough proved a well protected environment. Dogs patrol the yard so there is no fear of cats. And Millie makes sure that rats would not dare to encroach into the area. At first the nest, when we dared to peek in, was so well hidden that it took a time to spot where the robins had been building. From then on we kept well away from the trough.

We assumed the eggs had hatched once we saw both parents flying in every ten minutes or so with grubs in their beaks. Unfortunately this must have opened up the approach to the nest, and when we saw this morning that the robins were no longer flying to the conifer, feared the worst. And we were right. So sad.

But happily another event today has counteracted our sadness. The guinea fowl nest has been found. Over the past few weeks I have been stung in more places than it is decent to tell you looking in clumps of nettles for their nest. If guinea fowl could laugh I am sure that they will have been hysterical, as I failed to find out where they lay their eggs.

I have trespassed in fields, drawn very strange glances from passing motorists as I scoured hedgerows and verges, stalked the darn birds, surprised them, haunted them virtually, but still could not find their nest. The trouble is they are said to lay their eggs around lunch time, and at lunch time I am preparing and serving lunch.

I start off with grand intentions to go on guinea fowl safari, but then usually forget about it until it is too late. Then you can spot the smirk playing round the guinea fowl’s beaks, as they realise that they have got away with hiding their nest for yet another day.

But their hubris has been their downfall. Today John had a quiet morning and set out to track their movements. At 11.55 he came into lunch, face wreathed in smiles. “I’ve found the nest. They are laying in the orchard.”

I was flabbergasted. True the orchard is overgrown with nettles but it is at the end of the garden. The darn things have been leading me a merry dance all over the village and laying under my nose the whole time.