Our friends the red-shouldered blackbirds -- and their wonderful call -- have returned. I look forward to these birds almost as much as the meadowlarks. Okay, not as much as the meadowlarks, but they're a close second.
I love their calls. Wikipedia describes them as a "cong-a-lee," but these birds forever will be known to me and mine as the Telephone Bird, because, if you squint your ears and hold your head just right, their call kinda sounds like an old-fashioned phone ringing.
Went on a walk with Michelle earlier today and at the vacant Sugar City Business Park, we ran into a bevy of them, perched on a few little scraggly willows trying to grow by the canal. They really stand out this time of year, with their black feathers and red epaulets stark against the brown of spring.
And no, it doesn't bother me that the males' calls this time of year basically boil down to "Have sex with me, I have red feathers on me shoulders." I just like hearing the calls.
Making of the President 1960, The; by Theodore White.
Read in 2017
Asterix Chez les Helvetes, by Uderzo and Goscinny. 48 pages.
Diary of A Wimpy Kid, Double Down, by Jeff Kinney. 218 pages.
Essential C.S. Lewis, The; edited by Lyle W. Dorsett. 536 pages.
Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury. 184 pages.
Good Intentions, by Ogden Nash. 180 pages.
Le Bouclier Arverne, by Uderzo and Goscinny. 48 pages.
Non Campus Mentis, by Anders Henriksson. 150 pages.
Up the Down Staircase, by Bel Kaufman. 340 pages.
Ze page total: 1,704 pages.
The Best Part
Going Postal, by Terry Pratchett
"In my experience Miss Crisplock tends to write down exactly what one says," Vetinari observed. "It's a terrible thing when jouralists do that. It spoils the fun. One feels instinctively that it's cheating somehow."