Two goldfinches—a couple, clearly—were enjoying a dinner engagement at my feeder, as they often did this time of day. Clearly absorbed in a blossoming romance, etiquette and civilized consumption—one seed at a time—were paramount. It was a delightful thing to observe, adorable and very peaceful.
This duo had been together since late spring and their budding passion had been clear enough to fellow finches, as well as to the other smaller birds who gathered here regularly, such as chickadees, juncos, the occasional nuthatch, that they all gave them the few moments of privacy they deserved.
Most of the larger birds: bluejays, cardinals, the occasional robin and certainly the mourning doves, don’t bother with what might be going on in the feeder above or with bothering to try to find purchase there and settle instead for the considerable accumulation that falls to the ground due largely to another species, far less concerned with decorum.
Suddenly, two way-too-familiar grackles, very messy and uncouth feeders, crashed the finches’ few moments together…
Suddenly, two way-too-familiar grackles, very messy and uncouth feeders, crashed the finches’ few moments together with their customary reckless abandon and with no regard for their inopportune intrusion, landing with such force they nearly rocked the feeder off its purchase.
Not built with larger fowl in mind, the best they could do was get a grip on the feeder’s upper components and, often hanging upside down or with wings flapping wildly to help secure a very tenuous grip on things, they began ripping out beak fulls of seeds, wolfing down one or two while the rest scattered on the ground below. Conversation ensued.
“This is barely worth it,” said one grackle to the other.
“Agreed,” the other replied. “Having to continually flap like a bat outta hell to simply hold a perch is very awkward and not a pleasant dining experience.”
“At least he’s reliable. He has this pathetic thing hung and full every morning when the sun’s up.”
“But why this awful contraption? There are so many more practical and comfortable options. Only a tufted titmouse could be comfortable eating at this thing. And then he spends all morning scaring the seeds outta me!”
“Yes, way too numerous, back and forth in the window too often and too suddenly, raising and lowering nearby shades. Every time I secure a questionable perch, often upside down, always flapping like crazy to simply maintain my balance, there’s a sudden and unexpected movement, way too close, in a nearby window.”
“And why is this contraption hung so close to the house anyway? If it were out in the flower garden, we’d be free from all the sudden movements, and he’d only have to walk a couple more steps to fill it.”
“And the worse thing—as if hanging on for dear life just trying to sustain oneself were not enough—is that the nearest window offers an unfettered view of his bathroom and all that goes on there, which is way too much and way too often; such an unpleasant distraction.”
“Of all the windows he might have left uncovered!”
Phil Crossman feeds the birds and imagines their secret thoughts on Vinalhaven. He may be contacted at PhilCrossman.vh@gmail.com.
