Where art thou Romeo? And Juliet?

I am grieving. I have recently lost two friends, and I hadn’t even known them very long. We’d only just got on first name terms; to them I was Blurp, or sometimes Blarp. To me they were Romeo and Juliet, and they were moorhens.

For those of you who don’t have moorhens in your neck of the woods (note: they don't live in woods), see the pics. They’re a ground-dwelling bird but always live close to water. They’re closely related to the coot but seem less interested in swimming.

Anyway, about three months ago as I was working in the garden, a lone moorhen felt brave enough to join me, although at a safe distance. This was a real novelty, because in the two years we’d lived beside the river we hadn’t seen any moorhens, only coots, ducks, geese, swans and the odd grebe.

I cautiously backed inside, got a handful of birdseed and threw it towards him. (Yes I know, I’ve automatically called the bird a ‘him’ without any thought to gender orientation. But wait, you’ll see I was right). Predictably he fled in a panic having just had the equivalent of a hailstorm fall on him, but he did come back after a little while and began pecking at the seeds.

I kept my distance and carried on with sawing timber, my job of the moment. I wanted him to feel that I didn’t really care one way or another, and that he could dine in safety and security. Nonchalance was my middle name, though I kept a watchful eye.

Over the next few weeks the moorhen visited the garden fairly regularly, and then daily. He’d wait for me (well, for breakfast) each morning, would even emit a ‘blarp’ or a ‘blurp’ sound to remind me he was there, and of course I obliged with a menu of dried mealworms and an exotic ‘all seasons’ birdseed mix. I know, Michelin Star treatment right? He hardly flinched now when the birdseed landed over him, but also I started scattering it slightly nearer me each day, and each day he would venture closer towards me.

The closest we ever got was about five feet, but I felt we’d reached an understanding: he wouldn’t come any closer and I wouldn’t lunge at him and stick him in the oven. We were both happy with that arrangement.

Then one day he turned up with a ‘friend’, who my wife Liz and I presumed was a female. Spring was approaching (still is, sigh) so obviously a young man’s fancy turns towards such things. Now we had names for them, and while Romeo and Juliet won’t win any awards for creativity, it suited them. In return however they still called me Blarp.

Star-crossed lovers

But I was delighted that Romeo had led Juliet into our garden to show her where you could get a quick meal without even having to forage. Liz and I hoped that come nesting time the pair would return with their chicks and introduce us to the family. Adding to our anticipation – and also confirming that Romeo was indeed male – we witnessed the pair mating in the garden one day. I gave them some extra bird mix after that session; I figured they might be hungry.

And so it continued. Some days it would be just Romeo, and some both him and Juliet. We bought a bigger bag of seed mix.

And then one morning about a month ago, Romeo didn’t turn up first thing as he usually did; I didn’t see him till almost lunchtime, no apologies, no explanations. I asked him where he’d been but he remained quiet. He did eat his lunch though, and then disappeared.

The next day there was no sign of him, or Juliet. Or the day after that. And now, four weeks later, I can only assume that Romeo and Juliet have gone the same way as their namesakes. Oh woe, and not even a ‘suspitious’ friar as prime suspect, nor any trace of poison! In fact, not even any corpses. For a few days we classified them as missing, but have had to revise this status to be 'missing presumed dead'. We suspect a fox.

I still raise the bedroom blind each morning in the hope of seeing them, or hearing a ‘blarp’, but the garden is empty. So am I.