What Kind of Bird is This?

I don't think I've ever heard this bird call before. Wondering what it is.

And that crash about six or seven seconds in? That was Dottie, going down the stairs on her own because she was tired of waiting for assistance.

 

Meadowlarks

Hearing the sound of meadowlarks in the morning is always a sign to me that spring is finally here.

Now, we hear lots of birds where we live: The red-shouldered blackbirds -- telephone birds, we call them, because of their call -- and the Yoo-Hoo Bird, also named by us for its distinctive whistle. We hear woodpeckers banging their heads all over the place, plus our fair share of mourning doves. Also plenty of nameless finches who hide in the trees and bushes and fill the air with their songs. I even love the timid, raspy songs of the sparrows, so often overlooked when the other birds arrive. Later, as the fruit grows on the trees, we see the mountain bluebirds and the wild canaries. And those kildeer, on their long legs, running through the weeds in the undeveloped business park where we walk. We know you're leading us from your nests, but we're willing to follow and fall for your ruse because you're working so well to defend your family.

But I always go back to meadowlarks in the morning. Or in the evening. Doesn't matter. There's no more beautiful sound in the world.

Then there's this, which I listen to when the world is cold and snowy and the birds have all flown south for the winter:

Birdwatch: Day Three

UPDATE: No video. It was pouring rain this morning so neither the bird nor I felt like cooperating.

Our maybe-Cooper's Hawk is back on his little precarious perch tonight, making this at least the third night we're aware of that he's been there.

I say maybe-Cooper's Hawk because as Michelle was looking at birds of prey photos today, she's partly convinced that what we have might also be a Peregrine Falcon. I just know I can't be sure of anything until I see his face, and even then, I know I'm likely to be wrong.

I do know this: He's started building little stalagmites of poop on the front porch, and has liberally peppered the string of unlit Christmas lights that go down from his perch. I may just throw them away when the time comes. I'm not sure I'm up to scrubbing up bird of prey poop.

Tomorrow morning, I'm sneaking out of the house at dawn to see if I can get some pictures and/or video of his face and chest, by which we hope to be able to identify him a little better. That'll mean going out the back door tomorrow morning and trekking through the deep snow on the north side of the house so I don't spook him going out the front door. At least I can hide out in the Pilot and get warm doing my sneaky work.

It's Alive!!

UPDATE: 7:32 PM. The bird is back in the same spot he occupied last night. Not sure when he came back -- we were in town on a walk -- but he's back now. Going to try to figure out how to get my webcam out there so we can keep an eye on him.

This photo is used under a Creative Commons license.

Just in case you were on tenterhooks all night wondering what has become of the "horribly splatted bird" stuck like a moldy marshmallow to the front of our house, wonder no longer. It's alive and appears to be in fine fettle.

Our youngest popped out of the front door to look at it before school this morning, and as he did, the bird was still clinging to the wall but looking down at him. It took off in a flurry. Maybe it'll come back. It's likely, because it's the bird's second night perched there, based on the goo on the wall and on my snow shovel.

One of my wife's friends in England, a raptor enthusiast, thinks we've got a Cooper's Hawk shacking up with us. I'm not so sure based on the pointy-feathered tail I saw on the thing last night, but I'll defer to our expert.

Another of my wife's English friends called me a "big girl's blouse" because I put a paper towel on the shovel handle because I didn't want to touch the bird goo on the shovel as I cleaned the sidewalks and driveway last night. I told him I take umbrage at that insult, though I'm not quite entirely sure what it means. And maybe he's right, given my family's past history with being manly with birds:

So maybe I am a big girls blouse after all.

Telephone Birds Going Ape

Wow.

You know, red-shouldered blackbirds -- we call them telephone birds due to their distinct call -- are pretty common around Sugar City, but the flock we've had in the neighborhood the past few days is something else. Upwards of about a hundred birds gather in pine trees across the street as the sun sets and sing up a storm. Then they fly in a broad circle over the block, then go back to their roosts, singing all the time. I'm sure they're up to the kind of thing that brings more red-shouldered blackbirds later in the year, but it's sure fun to listen to.

Sir Robin

The American Robin: Cliche of springtime birds. but you know, springtime is the time I like them best. Why is that? Because of this:

They don't seem to sing like this much through mid-summer into fall before they leave, probably because by then they're already paired up and making nests and raising little birdies and such. But I loooooove to hear their kinds sad calls int he spring. In fact, they kinda remind me of this guy:

Note I didn't go with the cliche with him, either. He, like the robin, have delights that make revisiting them worthwhile. And, not unlike the robin, this guy kinda stands around stiffly between the more popular musical riffs, as if he has no idea what he's supposed to be doing. Besides, I think I heard this background music when I was a little kid, wandering the toy department at Sprouse-Reitz while my mother was wandering somewhere else. I miss that basement . . .

Behold the Yoo-Hoo Bird

Another welcome springtime arrival is the ubiquitous Yoo-Hoo Bird, or the black-capped chickadee. When these little guys arrive, springtime is complete for me. They mean more even -- well, almost -- than the spring flowers (crocuses, daffodills and tulips) that are popping up in the front garden.

They get their nickname, of course, from their distinct call. I guess I can hear the fee-bee as described, but it'll always be known as the Yoo-Hoo Bird to me and my kids. It's also delightful to hear them (the birds, not the kids) shout the typical "chickadeedeedee," which is one of the few bird calls on which I can agree with others -- that's exactly what they're saying.

Hail the Telephone Bird

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.

Killdeer are Back

Another sure sign of spring here in Eastern Idaho is the return of the killdeer. When I hear their peculiar call, my heart soars knowing that spring is here and that summer sin't far behind.

Again, I'm grateful I live in a place where the killdeer will come. We don't often see them in our back yard, but last year we did have a pair that nested in the alley and occasionally came into the yard looking for bugs. We're also not far from that ubiquitous cow pasture, so hearing their calls isn't an uncommon occurrence.

Odd thing -- we don't often see them doing their broken wing act, even if we get close. They'll do their little chirpy calls -- but not the piping, which I've heaerd from killdeer in some YouTube videos -- but when we get cloe, they just jog along even faster. The broken-wing and piping things must be for their eastern counsins. They do perform their killdeer chant which, for me, is always enchanting.

Now that we've got a good digital video camera, I plan on doing some birding this spring and summer, just for the fun of it.

I see (and hear) these little buggers out at work all the time. We often have a pair nest in the little patch of grass outside our trailer, so all spring long we can hear them chattering outside and, when the eggs hatch, we can watch the chicks scuttle about and be herded around by mom and dad. Just another advantage to working at a nuclear waste dump way in the hell out in the middle of nowhere.

The Elves . . . The Elves

I believe in Santa Claus. Even if he's a grumpy guy like the Santa in A Christmas Story. Because to me, Santa is a lot more real than a lot of the real folks reality wants to foist upon me. I even like the grumpy elf, because he's more real.

But it's not just the grumpiness. It's the humanity. Santa Claus shows a lot more humanity than any politician, any pundit, and jabber-grabber on the television can ever show. And yeah, sometimes Santa lets us down. He tells us we're going to shoot our eye out. And he's probably right. Does it matter that he's right? Yes, it does. In that grumpy kind a way, it really does matter that he's right. He's right not because he's self-righteous about it, not right because he's angry that we believe contrariwise to how he perceives the world, or right because miffed that we're not listening to reason. He's right because he's right. Santa Claus, being a fictional character that has crossed into reality, knows truth from falsehood, and even truth from truthiness.

So I believe.

Because underneath all that grumpiness, there's justice. Good kids get what they ask for. Bad kids get punished with coal, or with kindling, or with rotten potatoes (I'm an Idahoan; the latter has happened.) But even with the bad kids, there's leniency. There's hope. Only with Santa Claus can we believe in deathbed repentance.

Aside from all that, a belief in Santa Claus lets us believe, by proxy, in the good that remains in humanity. There are people who do kindness every day of the year, though it may only be remarked as the calendar approaches the 25th of December. People do good things all year round. They love each other. They do service. They laugh and cry with other people. They work for others. They sit and chat with others. They give, and give, and give. But the cynics look at their all-round cheerfulness in context of Christmas and Santa Claus and say, well, they're doing it because of some outmoded judeo-Christian belief system that they've transplanted upon a former pagan tree-worshipping ritual. But the cynics are wrong. Christmas is beautiful. And believing in Santa Claus is the right thing to do.

My kids will hear Santa's sleigh bells this year. And so will their Dad, for a long time to come.

Black Friday

Black Friday is getting to be more like a plane crash every year in that it's the bad experiences that get reported. Planes take off and land every day; folks do their Black Friday shopping every year. It's just the crashes and the bad behavior that get the ink.

I guess you find what you look for, or at least figure in that demented journalistic way that it's what isn't normal that gets reported. This, unfortunately and I think intentionally, creates a warped view of the world as a whole, as the bad stuff gets emphasized. If one sees nothing but bad behavior in the news, one assumes that the only kind of behavior out there is bad behavior. One's own sense of superiority and entitlement on looking down on others also kicks in. If you're looking for the bad in humanity and get a confirmation of what you expect to see, then you are absolutely right, even if the view you're being presented is skewed incredibly towards the bad. It's a rare occasion for a plane to crash, but when it does, it's news. The planes that take off and land without incident aren't news, apparently. So good behavior on Black Friday isn't news, because -- let's face the truth here -- it's the norm.

Michelle and I went to our local Wal-Mart this morning because of on item -- a $18 microwave. We have a microwave, but we live the sheltered kind of life that leads us to believe that if an appliance is broken it can be repaired. We've got a good repairman, but apparently the part he needs to fix the machine has to be ordered from Elbonia and they can't get the plane out of the mud. So we decided to buy an emergency backup microwave so we can do the sundry things that a microwave allows: Heating food and popping popcorn. Personally, the latter is much more important to me than the former, but that's just me talking.

So we got to Wal-Mart just before 5 am, expecting bedlam. There was no line at all. They let the hordes in a half hour early so they could begin their shopping. Some weren't after the hot-ticket items and so were happily perusing the aisles. Those who were after the biggies were waiting, patiently, by the piles of bounty for 5 am and the starting whistle of the Wal-Mart crew, before the grabbing began. Yes, I said actually waiting. Some had their hands on the merchandise, others did not. But no where in the store did I see anyone grabbing anything early. It was all being guarded, of course, by associates with no more weaponry than stern looks, roped-off aisles and hand-lettered signs saying "Not available until 5 am. This was civility personified. People were laughing, helping each other, for example, find the right size of kids' boots they wanted. Nobody was mad.

Even after the whistles blew, bedlam did not ensue. Sure, people scooped stuff up, but civilly, without hitting or elbowing or body-checking. Nothing at all like that. Friendly-like.

Waiting in line was the worst, just for the wait, not because of any bad behavior. We happened to be in line just in front of the lady who bought our van about a month ago. We talked about the van and other topics, joking with those around us about the crowds and the frenzy, but nobody got mad. Nobody shoved in line. We got through quickly enough Michelle decided she wanted to dive back into the store for another item.

I took our stuff out to the Pilot, encountering on the way a young couple trying to squeeze a 50-inch LCD TV into the trunk of their very small sedan. Soon enough we had the TV loaded in the Pilot and I was chatting with the guy as his wife drove us out to their apartment complex on the other side of town. So there were good vibrations and happiness and flowers and rainbows coming out of everyone's bums this morning.

Capitalism, I have to say, behaved exceptionally well for us this morning. Take that, Karl Marx.

Update: A day later, CNN.com grudgingly admits that shoppers and retailers behaved themselves, though it appears they, too, were waiting for the bloodshed:

Although Black Friday seemed to be missing the usual mayhem associated with it, the good news for merchants was that shoppers eagerly spent money on toys, cashmere sweaters, Snuggie blankets and gadgets at juicy discounts.

Compared to previous years, Cohen said the Black Friday atmosphere appeared to "be more tame."

"Look, retailers have been educating consumers for days before Black Friday on what their deals are going to be and on what items," said Cohen. "That's partly why we're not seeing the frenziness."

To his point, although the Toys R Us flagship store in Times Square had lines that were hundreds deeps for its midnight opening on Black Friday, it wasn't unruly at any point.

At least one can assume since they use New York City as an example, they were anticipating an urban or at least a suburban ruckus. More to the point, however, I'd like to point out that once again those writing and being quoted in the story are assuming that bad behavior -- perhaps not bloodshed, but shoving, screaming, cursing, et cetera -- is the norm, which, as I have already said, it is not. And some may sneer at the Snuggies, but at least people weren't buying Bumpits.

From what we saw: Gigantic packages of picture frames, big-screen TVs and digital picture frames (at $54 a pop, no less; why I have to ask) were the most sought-after items. And towels. Cartloads of towels at our local Wal-Mart, in Rainbow Brite colors.

What drives me to participate in Black Friday? The uniqueness of it all. Seeing all those crowds filling the stores, piling carts to the ceiling, waiting bored in the checkout lines. And that thrill of the bargain. It kind of harks back to our hunter-gatherer days, though it's hard to imagine why our ancestors would have hunted and gathered digital photo frames and cheap towels. But I have to imagine that some of the H-Gs came home with some meat and also some worthless junk -- skulls, feathers, horns, et cetera -- that they could "find something to do with" at home. Maybe hang it on the wall.

POV Overload

It's great to hear what everyone has to say. But still, once and a while, I wish people would just shut up. And not because I don't like hearing their point of view. It's just that I get to POV overload, you know?