Traffic Jam
Sunday, 22 February 2026
There was a traffic jam on Hartington Grove this morning. I was pedalling back from the Post Office. An SUV was half pulled into a slot between parked cars but its over-large arse was still stuck out into the road so no other vehicles could get by. Another hulking great people carrier car was waiting behind it, obviously wanting to pass, and yet another approached in the opposite direction.
The woman in the half-parked SUV gesticulated and smiled an embarrassed smile. She didn’t know what to do.
Then I saw the cause.
There was a dunnock in the parking spot. I don’t know if it was ill or concussed or a youngster but it stood in the road blinking and looking wobbly.
I dismounted and scooped up the tiny quivering hedge sparrow while the woman said, ‘I didn’t know how to do that.’ And, ‘What will you do with it?’
‘I’ll put it somewhere private,’ I said.
Maybe that was an odd thing to say – I’m sure the dunnock didn’t care about privacy – but it was a good question. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with the little bird.
It didn’t seem injured or distressed but it was rather inert. Cupping the dunnock in both hands I managed to wheel my bike towards home and, after a minute or so, my captive started to fidget.
Sometimes birds fly into windows or other hard objects, or maybe the SUV driver had hit it. Then they’ll be stunned for a while. Sometimes birds are clearly ill and dying. I found a robin like that a while ago. In that kind of case I put them somewhere quiet with a little water to drink.
I hoped the dunnock diagnosis was stunned though and gently placed the bird in the nicely overgrown front garden of a neighbour. There this tiny creature stood. Blinking, still a bit wobbly, but then it hopped out of sight.
These small birds have short lives – the average lifespan of robins, for example, is just 13 months, while dunnocks typically live for two years. Maybe it was time for this dunnock to pass on, or maybe it would be all right.
At least the traffic jam had cleared.