The Wattlebird Came Back

We often only notice the small, familiar parts of life (even the annoying ones) once they’re gone. A wattlebird that spent a year attacking my office window taught me to pay closer attention to everyday moments, a lesson made sharper this week by a friend’s sudden loss.

(And I Didn't Realise How Much I'd Missed Him)

For the better part of last year, I shared my home office with a wattlebird. Not inside, thankfully — though some days it felt like it. He'd park himself in the bush outside my window, catch sight of his own reflection in the glass, and decide the handsome stranger staring back at him needed to be dealt with. Immediately. And repeatedly. For hours.

Thud. Flutter. Thud.

If you've never experienced a wattlebird with a grudge, let me paint the picture. They're not small, delicate little things. They're loud, they're cranky, and they have that rasping, throat-clearing call that sounds a bit like someone trying to start an old lawnmower. Add the steady knock-knock-knock of beak and wing against glass, and you've got the soundtrack to every video call I had for months.

It didn't help that one of my dogs took it personally. Every time the bird hit the window, he'd launch off his bed and bark like he was single-handedly defending the house from invasion. So there I'd be, mid-sentence with a client, scrambling for the mute button while a bird attacked his reflection and a dog attacked the bird he couldn't reach. Nobody was winning. Least of all me.

I tried things. I stuck things on the window. I moved the furniture around. I muttered at him through the glass, which I'm fairly sure he took as further provocation. He kept coming back.

The Quiet I Didn't Notice

And then, at some point, he didn't.

I can't tell you exactly when it stopped. That's the strange part. There was no final showdown, no farewell knock. It just... went quiet. And I didn't notice. Weeks went by before I was sitting at my desk one afternoon and realised something was different. I wandered out to the kitchen and said to my wife, “Have you noticed the wattlebird's gone?”

She hadn't either. We stood there for a moment, oddly deflated. He'd probably grown up, worked out the bird in the window wasn't a threat, found a mate, got on with his life. Good for him. But I was surprised by how much it bothered me that he'd left without me even noticing.

He's Back

Then yesterday, out of nowhere: thud.

I looked up and actually grinned. There he was, back in the bush, puffed up and furious at his reflection like no time had passed. The dog was off his bed in a flash. Ten minutes of glorious chaos, and then he was gone again.

And I was excited. Genuinely excited. About the bird that drove me up the wall for the best part of a year.

What's that about?

Why We Miss the Things That Annoy Us

I've been thinking about it since, and I reckon it's this: the things that annoy us are still part of the fabric of our days. They're familiar. They anchor us to a time and a place. That bird was part of the rhythm of my working life — as much as the morning coffee, the dog snoring under the desk, or the bins rumbling out to the kerb on a Tuesday night. I didn't love him. But he was mine, in a funny sort of way.

We do this all the time, don't we? The housemate who always left dishes in the sink. The kids who wouldn't stop asking “why?” The neighbour's questionable taste in music on a Sunday arvo. The colleague who told the same story at every morning tea. We grumble about them, and then one day they're not there anymore, and we'd give a fair bit to hear that story just one more time.

The Little Things That Slip Past

Missing what we never noticed

But the part that really got me wasn't missing the bird. It was not noticing he'd gone.

How much of life slips past like that? Not the big moments — we tend to notice those. The small ones. The last time you carried your kid to bed before they got too big. The last time you heard a particular friend's laugh before life took you in different directions. The last time an old dog met you at the door. Nobody tells you it's the last time. It just quietly stops, and often we only realise long after.

Closer to home : For our friend

This week, that landed a lot closer to home. Four weeks ago, a dear friend's husband was diagnosed with cancer. This week, he passed away. Four weeks. No time to prepare, no long goodbye — just a full, ordinary life, and then a terrible quiet. I keep thinking about all the small things she'll miss now: his voice from the next room, the little habits that probably drove her mad, the everyday noise of a shared life. Our hearts are with her and her family.

Paying attention

It feels strange to put a cranky wattlebird alongside something so heartbreaking. But between them, I've been given a nudge to slow down and pay attention. To notice the light coming through the window in the late afternoon. The magpies warbling on the back lawn. The dog, ridiculous as he is, losing his mind over a bird he will never, ever catch.

These things are happening right now, all around us, and most of the time we're too busy, too distracted, too head-down to take them in.

Over to You

So here's my small suggestion: next time something little gets under your skin, maybe give it a second look. It might just be one of the things you end up missing.

And if you happen to have a wattlebird bashing into your window right now — try to enjoy him while he's here. I'm told they grow up fast.

So, over to you: what are the small, annoying things in your life that you'd secretly miss if they disappeared tomorrow? Tell me in the comments — and then go and notice one of them today.

Why do wattlebirds attack windows?
Wattlebirds are territorial, especially in breeding season. They see their reflection in the glass as a rival bird and try to chase it off. Most grow out of it or move on.

Why do we miss things that annoyed us?
Familiar things, even irritating ones, become part of our daily rhythm. They anchor us to a time and place, so when they disappear we feel the gap.

How can I notice the small things in life more?
Slow down and pay attention to everyday details: sounds, light, routines and the people around you. Ask yourself which small things you’d miss if they disappeared tomorrow.