Slow Dance

The lead gobbler in our part of the woods has been putting on a grand show in the mornings, displaying for the hens. With his tail feathers fanned out, he opens and closes the iridescent feathers on his back, body and breast like a polka player's accordion. Below a bright red wattle, he extends one leg slowly, deliberately, then another. Pivoting in slow motion, his primary wing feathers dragging on the ground, he turns a full circle, giving the hens the opportunity to admire each of his shining feathers.

We admire them, too, and feel privileged to see it.

First Responder

A thud against the window yesterday sent me to the bedroom to check for a downed bird. Occasionally, one will crash, and sometimes a little help can influence their chances of recovery. Scanning the rocks below the window, I didn’t see the bird at first. A chirping sound drew my attention to a titmouse perched in a nearby tree. He would chirp, and then look below him. Following his gaze, I located the injured bird on the ground, another titmouse, well camouflaged on the gray rocks. “At least its buddy is looking out for him,” I thought.

When a bird hits a window, the first thing I try to do is turn them right side up. It seems to increase their chances of survival. But today, I watched in amazement as the titmouse on the limb swooped down and righted his stunned companion. 

A moment later, I had a second surprise. The First Responder Titmouse started viscously attacking the fallen one.

It wasn’t until I noticed another bird watching the fight from the tree, that a light flipped on in my brain. This was a fight over that sweet thing batting her eyelids in the tree branch. The bird on the ground wasn’t able to fly, but it could run pretty well. Still, it didn’t stand a chance. The aggressor pummeled him while he tried to escape, then flew up to the tree to bask in the admiring gaze of his cheerleader. This cycle was repeated several times.

Those little birds can tilt their head and look winsome, but when the claws come out, pity the underdog.

At last check, none of the birds were in sight, so I’ll have to assume that the vanquished bird picked up the pieces of his shattered life and moved on, and the happy couple is setting up housekeeping. I always hope for happy endings.

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday