Category Archives: Backyard Birds

I found a twittering of bushtits today, in the shrubs outside my building. They were flitting from stalk to stalk, and up and down between ground and foliage. I pointed my camera at them, but every time I caught one in my sights, it took flight. I followed them all the way to Stamps Landing, and down towards the water, from one stand of greenery to the next, but I never got a picture. I’d have followed them even more, but they took off in the direction of the Cambie Bridge, and I wussed out. Next time, perhaps.

In the meantime, finches and flowering trees:

This is a house finch. She is eating sunflower hearts. You can see her tongue a little bit, if you look closely.

While I was examining these flowers, a dog snuck up and tried to a) bite me, or b) smell my shoe. I’m not entirely sure which. I nearly tripped over myself, trying to get away from it, and ended up doing a foolish foot-to-foot dance, trying to keep my balance. It didn’t work. I fell in a bush. Birds flew out. FAIL.

I saw the biting/sniffing dog again, while examining this tree. I think it was following me. Dogs shouldn’t be allowed to wander about, all wild and unfettered. Somebody might bump into them with a car. Or they could bite me. Dogs love to bite me. I’ve already been bitten by two and a half dogs. (The half represents a dog that snapped at my face and missed, not, you know, half a dog.)

I was free to examine this tree in peace: I was five floors up, and safe from marauding mutts.

Last year, my balcony was haunted by an ugly, mangy, bald-pate sparrow, which I christened the “worthless crapbawky,” because of its unkempt appearance. I theorised that the poor bird’s mate must be pecking it bare, because it showed no other signs of illness or distress, and because although it hung around all summer, with its fledglings, its feathers never grew back. Seen head-on, it was an ordinary, rather cute sparrow. From behind, it was a horrid mess of crinkly birdskin. Kind of like the classic horror-film shot, where a whole-looking person does a slow turn, to reveal a craterous landscape of ruined flesh, on the other side of his face. (Gus Fring, anyone?)

Anyhow, after the autumn migration, I never expected to see the crapbawky again. A wild sparrow’s life expectancy is on the short side, especially in the case of a damaged specimen. I imagine it’s quite rare to see any house sparrow two years in a row, much less a garbage one. But this morning, first thing, I looked out my window, and there it was: the worthless crapbawky, feasting merrily away. Congratulations, crapbawky, on weathering the winter. I’d knit you a little hat, but a) I don’t knit, and b) you look stupid enough, already.

How is this bird still alive?