I've always thought that encouraging wild birds or animals to trust humans was a bad idea. Sure, our intentions might be good but their tameness makes them easy prey for our pets and other humans.

Years ago I encouraged a red squirrel to take food from my hand and all seemed fine until one day it came out to greet me, scampering unwarily across the open ground. Unaware that the neighbour's cat was nearby I knelt down to give it a treat when the cat pounced. A fierce battle ensued and the squirrel managed to escape but disappeared for several days. I thought it might have died of its injuries but it reappeared with a long gash across its eyelid that, luckily, did not damage the eye. From then on I treated the squirrel like a wild animal, and regretted ever having made it trust me.

Still, I have to admit that when a wild bird deigns to land on me quite by accident it is a very special feeling. It happened to me yesterday as I sat outside near the woodshed to watch the numerous birds cavorting in the water dish.

As usual there were at least a dozen junior Yellow-rumped Warblers, several Western Tanager, some Chickadees and at one point, three Gray Jays thrashing about in the dish. The occasional Orange-crowned Warbler, Chipping Sparrow and Junco also managed to muscle their way into the fray.

On the outside of this crowd and seemingly not interesting in drinking or bathing were the Red-breasted Nuthatches. I was paying particular attention to the Nuthatches because in the last few years I have heard a number of people express their concerns about the absence of this species at their feeders. Getting an accurate count on any species of bird in the yard is difficult from inside the house but from my vantage point I noticed there were many Nuthatches.

As I tried to accurately count all the birds my head spun about as if I were a man possessed. I saw a Nuthatch land on the handle of a snow shovel just above my head. Then just as quickly it flew from the show shovel handle and landed on the tip of my shoe. It studied me closely and I returned its candid appraisal. The bird investigated the welt of my shoe all the while holding a dark item in it's beak. I presumed the bird was looking for a spot to crack open a sunflower seed, but it opened its beak and dropped a squirming black ant. Stooping, and quickly picking up its lost prize, the Nuthatch zipped off.

I noticed a flickering movement below my left elbow near the ground. It was another Nuthatch, staring upwards towards me then making a short flight to land on my pants. Judging by its rather ratty plumage and trusting manner, this was a junior Nuthatch. The large number of Nuthatches in the yard was probably due to the two Nuthatch adults bringing around their nestful of young.

The junior Nuthatch clung trustingly to my pantleg and moved around on me as if I were a tree trunk, I thought back to my semi-tame squirrel and the lesson it learned about getting close to people and cats. Now would be the ideal time to spring to my feet and scare the bee-jeebers out of the tiny bird. But I did not! Instead, I enjoyed the chance to see a Nuthatch up close and marvel at its detail. I also felt a magical moment as the wild creature found comfort and safety so close to what might have been a grave enemy. This little Nuthatches' cruel life lessons would have to come from someone else, because today I'm channeling St. Francis.