Category Archives: Birdful Blather

I’m going to tell a story about a crow, today — but first, I must revisit one of the characters from my last entry: the dreaded Jerky Birdie. I’ve endured rather a festival of them, today, all out and about and determined to misbehave. On the list of shame, we have:

Exhibit A (not pictured): an invisible bushtit. This bushtit has mastered the art of not being seen. And me without my dynamite! I could certainly hear the wee rotter, though — peep-peep-peep-peep-peep-peep — I swear, it was laughing at me.

Exhibit B (also not pictured): a nearly-invisible bird, of unknown species. This bird has not quite mastered the art of not being seen, but might as well have, for my purposes. I saw its head. I saw its tail. I saw part of its wing. I saw a flurry of general browny-grey birdishness, as it fluttered from one tree to another. I think it might’ve been the treecreeper I’ve been waiting for, which makes it doubly frustrating: I never really got to look at it, get an overview, sort of thing. I considered crossing the street, to see if I could sneak a peek from underneath, but I didn’t want to frighten it. Unlike the hummingbird from the other day, it wasn’t terribly high up. I could probably have reached into the tree and grabbed it, if I crept close enough. A bird can get a real fright, when a person invades its space that egregiously.

Exhibit C (surprise! not pictured!): three mallards bothering a bufflehead. Wouldn’t it be awesome if I had a boat, so I could cruise the harbour, breaking up duckfights? That bufflehead would’ve thought I was Batman. Batman in a boat. Boatman. Wouldn’t it be awesome if I was Batman? Woah….

Exhibit D (pictured!!!): a chickadee, reprising the role of photographer’s bane, to not-so-great acclaim.

You can’t tell, what with the motion blur, and all, but this is a black-capped chickadee, fluttering out of my perfect shot, and into fuzzy ignominy. Very nice.

It’s hard to focus, from all the way across the street. And then, this bird turns its back on me. Thanks for that!

The second I slow the shutterspeed, to compensate for poor lighting, this chickadee flaps into a nice bright patch. And thanks for THAT, also!

Exhibit D: gulls. They’re not doing anything particularly jerky, here, but they are gulls.

Whee!

im in ur sky, washin ur hair. whitewashin, that is.

All right. You’ve made it this far–time for that crow story.

A few weeks ago, I was out for a walk, when a crow landed near me, on the pavement. This wasn’t terribly unusual, of itself: the crows here are bold almost to the point of obnoxiousness. I ignored it and kept walking. It hopped along behind me, looking up at me all the while, almost…expectantly. I told it to go away, which, of course, it didn’t understand. Then, it made a noise I hear a lot in the early mornings, before I’ve filled the feeder–a sort of…plaintive, throaty sound, not quite a caw. More of a churbling, like a giant pouched rat makes, only not as high-pitched. It occurred to me that the crow was begging. Of course, I didn’t have anything for it. I don’t walk about with a bag of birdseed, in case a crow happens by and fancies a snack.

But a question did cross my mind: had the crow recognised me, and associated me with breakfast? I’ve read that crows are capable of distinguishing one human face from the next (really!). Is it so farfetched to imagine this one knew me?

At any rate, it followed me nearly all the way to Leg In Boot Square, before giving it up as a bad job. I wish I could tell one crow from the next, so I’d’ve known if that was one of mine.

And that’s another reason birds are for everyone: there’s a chance they kind of like you back, or at least find you a reliable source of treats.

Another reason birds are for everyone: they fill up the gaps in your social network. I mean, sure, you’ve got bags of adoring pals (what birder doesn’t?), but have you got any of those irritating friends who aren’t really your friends, but you’ve known them for ages, so you’re sort of stuck with them? What about a horrid old long-nosed aunt, who can’t seem to stay out of your business? A nemesis? Ha! Didn’t think so. Fortunately for you, you’ve got these fellows to take up the slack:

WHAT, YOU’RE NOT UP YET?

What? What? You’re still asleep? What are you doing still asleep?

You know this guy: he’s like a broken alarm clock, always bothering you at strange hours, and always shocked to find you in bed. He rings you in the morning, all “Oh, were you sleeping? Man, it’s six o’clock! I can’t believe you’re still in bed. Don’t you have to get ready for work? Anyway….” — and then, he’s off on some interminable tangent; he never shuts up. It doesn’t occur to him that you might want to drift back off, till your actual alarm’s ready to go. Or he catches you sneaking an afternoon nap: “Dude! Dude! What are you doing? It’s still light out! Dude!” Dude! Sod off!

KRAMER

GET OUT OF MY FRIDGE!

Comes sliding in, makes a lot of noise, knocks stuff over, eats everything in sight — enough said.

FOLKS YOU’VE KNOWN SINCE HIGH SCHOOL, WHO BELIEVE THEMSELVES YOUR FRIENDS, BUT THE TRUTH IS, YOU THINK THEY’RE KINDA LOSERS

What, me? A trash bird?

A lot of feeder birds fall into this category: house sparrows, rock doves, female house finches, house sparrows, house sparrows, house sparrows, house sparrows…. I mean, you’re sort of happy to see them. They’re birds. They’re cute. Their antics are amusing. But at the same time, they’re scoffing all your seed, and frightening off the more interesting birds. Ever seen a pack of house sparrows mob a flicker? Not pretty.

FROM HELL’S HEART I STAB AT THEE; FOR HATE’S SAKE I SPIT MY LAST BREATH AT THEE

My birdly nemesis, at the moment, is something I call the WTFerfowl, because I see it in the water, and I don’t know WTF it is. It’s large and brown, sort of goosey-looking, with orangish-red bits under its chin, and extra-large feet. It likes to hide behind boats and under docks, where I can’t get a picture of it, or even see it properly. Once I’ve photographed and identified the WTFerfowl, something even more elusive will take its place. (I don’t quite have Ahab’s attention span.)

YOUR MOTHER

When are you taking the dust out? Eh? Eh? Eh? Get a real job!

Well, you’ve probably already got a mother, but in case you haven’t, or yours doesn’t scold you enough, have an aggressive little bird. Robins, chickadees, sparrows, hummingbirds — any sort of toaty, territorial bugger — these all make good mothers. A friend of mine was in Southern California over Christmas, and he saw someone get smacked in the face with a hummingbird. It dove down, drew blood, and fluttered off. So far, I haven’t been outright assaulted by a tiny, angry bird, but I get told off daily by song sparrows. There’s a whole COLONY of ’em in the bushes along Bucketwheel, and they don’t like people using the street. So far, I’ve been squawked at while engaged in the following innocuous activities:

* Sitting on the wall, specifically NOT swinging my feet, so’s not to disturb the birds;
* Using the street as intended (ie, walking down it);
* Bumping into someone I knew, and stopping to chat;
* Eating a sandwich;
* Taking photographs from a respectable distance.

Get off my back, Mother! No, there’s not a button missing from my coat; yes, these are the shoes I’m wearing; yes, this is healthy food. Sheesh!

THAT GUY WHO THINKS THE WORLD OWES HIM A LIVING, BECAUSE OF THAT ONE TIME HE WAS LEGITIMATELY WRONGED

This sparrow is a product of our decadent culture of entitlement. More specifically, it believes itself entitled to my balcony, and everything on it.

This sparrow was born with ugly feet, and feels it deserves, by way of compensation, an entire balcony to itself. (In fact, I do wonder if this sparrow has been exiled from the colony on Bucketwheel, on account of its defective feet. I never get any other song sparrows, up here; just this one, which shows up several times a day. I used to get them a lot, but then house sparrows came, and everything more timid found somewhere else to eat.)

A JERK WHO IS NOT REALLY PART OF YOUR SOCIAL CIRCLE, AT ALL, BUT WHO SPENDS A LOT OF TIME WITH YOUR BEST FRIEND, SO YOU HAVE TO TOLERATE HIS PRESENCE, TO AN EXTENT

Really, chickadee? That’s where you stand?

This bird is a total jackass. I mean, not just this bird, but — well, you know the sort. You could call him the “jerky birdie,” the bane of photographers, sketchers, and anyone looking for small, easy-to-miss field marks. He hides in tangles of branches, flaps his wings at inopportune moments, and whirls around to present you with his tail, every time you try to take his picture. He frequents patches of bad light — even on the sunniest of days, he can find some murky nook to squeeze into. He’s really a pest. When the jerky birdie is an especially rare or fascinating specimen, he may progress to the role of nemesis.

…AND A CAST OF SEVERAL

Furthermore, if you’re in need of noisy neighbours, litter louts, a creepy guy across the way who watches you dress and undress, a terrifying stranger who jumps out of the bushes and scares the wits out of you, a garden vandal, et cetera, allow me to give you…the bird. (Oh, ha-ha.)