Author Archives: packbawky

Although I’m feeling rather healthier, now, I’m still stuck indoors, thanks to neverending rain. It’s been raining forever. Yesterday, the sun came out, and I thought I was free, but when I poked my head out, it was somehow still drizzling from a clear blue sky. Maybe the trees were dripping. Most unsavoury.

On the upside, I had a minigull on my balcony, yesterday, for the first time. It overshot its landing, at first, and sailed straight over the feeder, onto my deckchair. Then, it flapped around in frustration, trying to jump onto the feeder. After two or three abortive leaps, it got with the programme and tried a running start. It seemed to know exactly where the food was, though. And it seemed entirely unconcerned with my presence. Nonetheless, I decided not to take its picture. I wanted it to enjoy its first meal in peace, so it’ll be sure to come back. I want it to get as complacent as Loudenstein, so I can take as many pictures as I want.

In fact, I think it might’ve been to my feeder already, without my noticing. After its clumsy landing, it homed in on the tray awfully fast, and began to eat with absolute assurance. It didn’t even look over at me, till after it had taken its first bite. And when it saw me looking back at it, it didn’t stop to size me up. It’s probably been eating here early in the mornings, while I’m still asleep. It’s probably seen me lots of times, and decided I’m not worth its attention.

And now, for some pigeons:

Could it be? A pigeon version of the worthless crapbawky?

In fact, this pigeon is just at an awkward stage of its regular autumn moult. Unlike the worthless crapbawky, it’s got feathers on its neck. They just haven’t finished sprouting, yet, giving it a somewhat scraggly appearance. You can’t see its crinkly birdskin, when it turns its back.

This happened outside my window, right at the climax of the “Breaking Bad” finale. These two pigeons were trying to bump each other off the feeder, battering each other with their wings, nipping each other’s heads. It was distracting, to say the least. (It was also dark, so I couldn’t get a very good picture.)

Been a bit under the weather, this month, hence the lack of birdy delight. It’s hard to follow birds around, when you’re cooped up indoors. But I did get to watch Loudenstein’s Clorox-white summer feathers moult away, to reveal his grubby winter cap:

Loudenstein’s looking awfully mucky, these days. C’mere, boy. Let me wipe your head.

Poor Loudenstein. The feeder was empty, when these pictures were taken. That’s the best way to make him pose for portraits: come up to the window, as if I mean to feed him, then snap away to my heart’s content. He’ll wait pretty much indefinitely, as he knows the food’s coming…at some point.

I think he was getting a bit annoyed, here. A moment later, he puffed himself up, and shook tiny water droplets and feather particles all over my camera.

I hate to say it, but I’ve become fond of Loudenstein. He’s a very irritating bird. He comes here ALL THE TIME, eats ALL MY BIRDSEED, and pecks ALL MY CROWS. He wakes me up first thing in the morning, begging for food. Sometimes, he takes a nap in my planter, and makes funny noises in his sleep. But he’s not entirely dreadful. He stays out of my bedroom, unlike certain sparrows I could mention. He doesn’t (usually) shit on my deckchair. And if I say “Shut up, Loudenstein,” he usually shuts up, at least for a moment. If I talk to him, he stays and listens. Not, of course, that I have much to say to him. I say “Have you been a good bird?”, sometimes, and “Don’t bawk; Breaking Bad‘s about to start” — well, I suppose I’ve had all the use I’ll get, out of that one. That’s over and done. But something else’ll be along, and I won’t want him bawking during that, either. Oh, and once, I told him about a tasty-looking recipe I’d just found online, and speculated aloud that it might taste better than birdseed. I went on to inform him, a little superciliously, that he wouldn’t be finding out. He stared, and made a weird little yip, in his throat.

Gulls live a long time — well, thirty years, or so. I wonder how old Loudenstein is? I hope he’s not set to knock off, soon. I’ll miss him, when he’s gone. (Unless, of course, I knock off first, or move away. Then, he’ll…well, I can’t imagine he’ll miss me, but he’ll have to find somewhere else to eat.)