Bird-Brained!

Our century-old house has its share of challenges: poor insulation, faulty wiring, a window in the bathtub (really).  It's also got a pretty unappealing backyard.  The view from the dining room is one of a steep, homely hill scattered with trees and limp bushes.  The back porch isn't much more than a slab of concrete big enough for the grill and a wooden bench. 

But my cats love it. 

For several hours a day, they perch on the old buffet table I inherited from my grandmother (please...no one tell her about all the scratches they've put on it!), and watch the birds outside.  Thor, in particular, is an avid bird-watcher - or maybe he's really an aspiring chef, imagining all the delicious things he can do with the plump, juicy-breasted robins who hop around in the grass.

Since my mom's passing, I've actually become a bid of a bird-watcher myself.  I've always been fond of the cardinals who live in the bush beside our house.  We named them Tony and Pepper (after the characters in Iron Man, yes; if you haven't already branded me a super-geek by now then by all means, here's your chance).  Their single "wheet" note is strangely encouraging to me.  I love hearing it because it means they're nearby.  They always seem like happy birds, and that makes me happy, too.

Right before Mom died, a trio of blue jays moved in.  Now, some people hate them because their squawking isn't exactly soothing.  But I think they're brilliantly beautiful and obviously, Thor does, too.  I researched and learned that jays might not be the friendliest birds, but they're very intelligent.  They can mimic the cry of a hawk in order to intimidate a real hawk that might be snooping around the area!  Since hawks are territorial, it's unlikely that a hawk would muscle in on another one's territory.  (Although, since I did see a real hawk in our bush the other day, I don't know if Dick, Bruce and Barbara are doing their jobs properly).

Last week, on a whim, I bought a cheap bird-feeder and a huge sack of songbird seed.  I hung the feeder on the back porch and was immediately rewarded with a flutter of black-capped chickadees, joyful little house sparrows, and a solitary tufted titmouse.  I couldn't believe it, but we've got a red-headed woodpecker, too!

When we were little, my sister was obsessed with birds.  She wanted to be an ornithologist for a while, if I recall.  Bo.  Ring.  Still, when I had read all the novels, magazines, pamphlets and cookbooks in the house, I finally cracked open her Guide to North American Birds.  It was a pocket-sized bright blue book with full-color illustrations.  It wasn't as dull as I'd thought, although Gina had beaten it up pretty badly.  The cover was worn nearly in half from her constantly referring to it. 

Strange, the things you remember from childhood.  I've been able to identify nearly every little winged friend that stops by the feeder, just from reading a book two decades ago.

I haven't named them all, yet.  But, if I decide to, it's okay.  There's plenty more heroes in the Marvel and DC Universes for me to pick from.