Monthly Archives: March 2013

Over the winter, I didn’t see many house sparrows on my feeder, which was strange, as I still saw them round the neighbourhood. (I imagine we have some year-round populations, here, and some that prefer to migrate, and it’s a migratory flock that’s laid claim to my balcony.) At any rate, over the last couple of weeks, they’ve been trickling back in, one here, two there; another couple later on, with a finch tagging along. And today, traffic was brisker than ever: at one point, I had five little diners, feasting at once.

There was almost a house sparrow / song sparrow altercation, I think. Both birds spread their wings and puffed out their chests, and I thought they might go for each other, but their interest in food exceeded their interest in fighting, and they abandoned their displays. I hope the food continues to keep the house sparrows busy: last year, they pecked any song sparrow that crept into their midst, and the finches, as well. I suppose I shouldn’t be entirely down on their aggression, though. Since the sparrows have been back, gull visits have been down, though not eliminated. I don’t think the gulls like it, when a flock of sparrows settles around their feet. Perhaps, as spring ripens and sparrows proliferate, the gulls will be chased off, entirely. (One can dream!)

I also have a snippet of exciting and disappointing news, from my morning walk: I saw a new bird! (That’s the exciting bit.) But it scurried across my path and vanished into the underbrush, before I could get a good look. (Disappointing.) It was tiny and blue, or possibly grey, with a sharp beak and a stubby tail. It wasn’t a bushtit, though. It was too light, and the wrong shape, and it had white bits, and…well, I didn’t catch more detail than that, before it was gone. But now, I know it’s out there. I’ll find it, again.

Meanwhile, some balcony bird shots:

This sparrow is standing on a patch of bird lime, left early this morning by one of three hungry gulls. THREE! Really, there are limits!

No, sparrow; those are not eggs.

The pigeons, it seems, are not going away. Such gluttons! This pigeon sat in my feeder and ate and ate, till its crop was bulging, and it could hardly take off. Again, THERE ARE LIMITS! You think that lunch was free, pigeon? I had to pay for that!

They’re ba-ack! (In your face, crotchety old man from yesterday.)

A starling surveys the courtyard. Somehow, although there are plenty of starlings in the area, they’ve yet to find my feeder. And whenever I see them, on my walks, they’re high in trees, or on top of buildings. How shall I approach one? I want a better shot. Starlings, I know, are rubbish birds, but I like them.

Not a good shot, but something about the way this bird’s craning its neck to look in the window struck me as funny. (Little voyeur!)

Whenever nothing better presents itself, I find myself training my lens on gulls’ faces, and waiting for them to open their beaks. (It never takes long. Gulls, by the sounds of things, spend at least half their lives making noise. As I write this, I can hear several shrieking over the water, and another’s outside my window, issuing grunts in groups of three: grunt-grunt grunt. Grunt-grunt-grunt. Grunt-grunt-grunt. It’s been doing that for some time, now. It’s becoming a nuisance.)

Speaking of nuisances, I witnessed a bird-related altercation, today. I couldn’t hear every word of it, seeing as I’m on the fifth floor, and this was transpiring five floors down, but here’s the gist of it:

MY LANDLORD: (mumble, mumble) — expect me to do?

CROTCHETY OLD MAN: (points at a goose; mumbles)

MY LANDLORD: (chases the goose off the lawn, in a somewhat half-arsed manner — that is to say, he walked in its general direction, till it waddled off)

CROTCHETY OLD MAN: (points at the goose, which is now on the pavement) — still right there!

MY LANDLORD: Well, what do you want me to do?

CROTCHETY OLD MAN: (points at a second goose, which is sleeping on the lawn) — and another one!

MY LANDLORD: (chases the second goose off the lawn, and begins to walk away)

CROTCHETY OLD MAN: Don’t you walk away from me! (points at various planters, full of dead plants) — I’m just supposed to (mumble, mumble)

MY LANDLORD: (shrugs and leaves)

I’m surmising the crotchety old git lives on the first floor, and is tired of the geese tearing up the lawn, and digging in his planters. The degree of his ire, I’m afraid, is cause for concern. He seems like just the kind of loudmouthed busybody who’d report my feeders to management. Not, of course, that there’s any rule against birdfeeders; he hasn’t a leg to stand on. But it’s been my experience that, when faced with the choice of listening to some miserable old coot carp on and on about bird damage, or asking a quiet, obedient tenant to remove a feeder, it’s the quiet tenant who loses. I’m not even feeding geese! Stupid old man. If he deprives me of my balcony bawkies (especially the hummingbirds), I’m going to kick over his planters, myself! (Well, not really, but I’ll think spiteful thoughts at him. Lots of spiteful thoughts.)

Returning to the subject of gull photography, here are today’s attempts to peer into the hellbeak:

Here, we have a nice back-of-the-head shot.

…and a spot of flappety action.

Eyeing up the feeder.

And here we have it — a glimpse of the awful cavern! Look at that wet, serrated flesh! What a nightmare! (I wish I could get similar shots of crows’ beak-innards, but crows are less obliging with the squawks.)

Ever tried to sync your shuttersnaps with the bawking of a bird? It’s not so easy….

Also, I spent too much in the sun, and got a sunburn on my right ear. Only the right one. What a pain.