Yesterday a young dove sat on the path by the shrubs. 'Tame' I thought, as I got out of the car and it didn't move. It did start to shuffle then waddle on its feet when I closed the car door.

This morning hubby saw the dove in a similar position to yesterday, picked it up to examine it, then signalled to me through the window that he wanted my advice on the course of action to take.

The bird was a pretty pinky shade, with fluffy baby feathers. It looked well fed. Mum and dad, somewhere nearby, had probably continued to feed it. There was an odd bunching of feathers on or near a wing and it was probably this that was causing the problem. Hubby does know quite a lot about birds and their habits, so once I had suggested a course of action, he settled the bird in a quiet place, safe from predators.

I went on the hunt for treats from my culinary stores. I found just the thing, I thought, for a bird, linseed; Ooh, and we'll try a bit of popcorn; now, that nutty roasted salad topping is bound to have some more seedy bits the bird will like. A wee dish of water and it was all set in it's temporary bed and breakfast arrangement.

The Scottish Society For The Protection of Animals (SSPCA) representative came to collect the little bird. She was very happy with the rescue. There was nothing intrinsically wrong with the bird, the tufty thing would need to be looked at, but her guess was that the rescue centre would be advised to wait for it to grow out. An older, wiser, safer and healthy dove would leave their centre in a few weeks.