Backyard Bird–The Catbird
Gary Machado asked:
Backyard Bird — The Catbird
It’s quiet, now.
Gone is the constant chatter, whistles and meowing sounds as you
jump from branch to branch safeguarding your territory against
all trespassers.
Gone too is the uniformly gray body offset with the black cap
and tail feathers, with just a smidgen of rust coloration under
the tail coverts, that allows you to blend in with your natural
habitat of dense undergrowth and thickets.
They call you a skulker, a bird hard to see in the dense
underbrush. Usually heard but not seen. Definitely NOT a
backyard bird.
Except in my backyard.
Maybe it’s because my back yard is filled with trees and dense
underbrush along the rear and side fences. Or maybe it’s because
there is a wooded area of trees and underbrush in the low-lying
parcel of land across the street. Or maybe it’s because of a
reason I can’t fully understand. I know you don’t stay because
of my bird feeders, because you don’t have bird seed in your
diet. You prefer insects, spiders and fruit berries instead.
But whatever the reason, I’m grateful.
I’m grateful that you have chosen my rear yard as your place to
breed and have baby chicks. And not just this year. But last
year too. Definitely unusual.
I’m delighted to watch you jump and fly from one low hanging
branch to another, or from one small tree to another, constantly
chattering or meowing your right of territory.
But I never did get to see your mate’s nest. You never led me
there. So I don’t know how many chicks you fledged and whether
they all survived.
But it’s late summer now. And it’s quiet again.
Are you already heading south on your long migration journey? To
southern Florida. Or Texas? Or even to eastern Mexico?
I understand that for this trip, you’ve teamed up with some
other catbirds, so that you are in a group of a dozen or so. For
protection? For guidance?
Whatever the reason, I hope your migration south and your return
next year is succesful. I would really like it if you or one of
your chicks return next year. I look forward to your whistles
and meowing as you build your nest and defend your territory.
But until next year,
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Backyard Bird — The Catbird
It’s quiet, now.
Gone is the constant chatter, whistles and meowing sounds as you
jump from branch to branch safeguarding your territory against
all trespassers.
Gone too is the uniformly gray body offset with the black cap
and tail feathers, with just a smidgen of rust coloration under
the tail coverts, that allows you to blend in with your natural
habitat of dense undergrowth and thickets.
They call you a skulker, a bird hard to see in the dense
underbrush. Usually heard but not seen. Definitely NOT a
backyard bird.
Except in my backyard.
Maybe it’s because my back yard is filled with trees and dense
underbrush along the rear and side fences. Or maybe it’s because
there is a wooded area of trees and underbrush in the low-lying
parcel of land across the street. Or maybe it’s because of a
reason I can’t fully understand. I know you don’t stay because
of my bird feeders, because you don’t have bird seed in your
diet. You prefer insects, spiders and fruit berries instead.
But whatever the reason, I’m grateful.
I’m grateful that you have chosen my rear yard as your place to
breed and have baby chicks. And not just this year. But last
year too. Definitely unusual.
I’m delighted to watch you jump and fly from one low hanging
branch to another, or from one small tree to another, constantly
chattering or meowing your right of territory.
But I never did get to see your mate’s nest. You never led me
there. So I don’t know how many chicks you fledged and whether
they all survived.
But it’s late summer now. And it’s quiet again.
Are you already heading south on your long migration journey? To
southern Florida. Or Texas? Or even to eastern Mexico?
I understand that for this trip, you’ve teamed up with some
other catbirds, so that you are in a group of a dozen or so. For
protection? For guidance?
Whatever the reason, I hope your migration south and your return
next year is succesful. I would really like it if you or one of
your chicks return next year. I look forward to your whistles
and meowing as you build your nest and defend your territory.
But until next year,
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