Ever since my dog passed, the space has changed. Without him patrolling the grounds, the garden has become a tiny society, alive with squirrels, robins, magpies, ravens, hedgehogs, and even frogs. But that day, it welcomed a visitor no one expected: a Common Buzzard (Buteo buteo), setting off one of the most amusing little scenes our garden has seen — so far.
The first to notice the rather uncommon visitor were the magpies. The female (or so I assume) perched on our roof, relentlessly screaming at her partner — the tone unmistakable, even if I don’t speak fluent magpie — to deal with the Buzzard.
He sat across the garden in a tree, hunched like a reluctant gladiator about to be pushed into the arena. He hesitated, clearly trying to time his move just right. Every so often, he shifted his wings, as though rehearsing the approach, while his mate kept up her tirade from above: “Well? Aren’t you going to do something?”
And then there was the Buzzard. Broad, calm, and utterly unbothered, he sat in the tree like a statue, taking in the commotion.
At some point, a squirrel joined the scene. It raced along a branch, flicking its tail and chattering with all the bravery a tiny creature could muster, hopping frantically as if it could somehow chase off the Buzzard. You might expect the Buzzard to see it as an easy meal. But instead, he just tilted his head at the squirrel — almost confused by its boldness — and then went back to enjoying the sun.
Watching the squirrel´s attempt, the male magpie eventually did muster up some courage. He edged closer, flapped hard, and tried to chase off the intruder. The Buzzard still didn’t flinch, driving the desperate garden residents crazy. Neither the rooftop scolding nor the half-hearted advances seemed to faze him in the slightest. His expression — if birds can be said to have such — suggested quiet amusement at the chaos unfolding around him.
Watching this, I couldn’t help but laugh- it felt so unreal to see a bird this nonchalant while the animals around him were clearly freaking out, trying to get him away by any means.
When the Buzzard finally did take off, it wasn’t because of the magpies or the squirrel. It was on his own terms, wings opening wide, lifting effortlessly into the sky. The garden residents settled down, victorious in their own minds, but I knew the truth: the Buzzard had never felt threatened at all.
Photos: Andreas Jentsch
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