Through my kitchen window I see the
story unfold before me. Many are oblivious to the siege that is
happening, right outside my window, in plain sight for anyone to see.
Everyday, it's a battle for territory, for food and shelter.
Everyday, it is a battle to survive. The authorities know absolutely
nothing of this. The players in this story are rather inconspicuous,
they conduct their affairs under the radar, planning their next move,
plotting and scheming each other. It's inconceivable to think that
they have so much to fight about, that they don't get along. How long
this has been going on, no one can say.
It's taken me a while to identify all
the various characters in this scenario, but I've put them in two
main groups – the hooligans and the lovers.
The hooligans – there's three
in this group, you won't believe it, but even though they're supposed
to be peaceful, Doves are hooligans, yes, they're always jumping on
each others backs and attacking one another for space in the garden.
They jump on the kitchen window ledge as if to ask us 'Where's the
food?' They raise their wings at any other birds and even their own
kind at the first sign of trouble. They run around in circles chasing
each other. They make absolutely no sense.
Next comes the Kiskadees, they perch on
the lime tree, wait, then swoop down to steal food from everyone else
and they grab the whole lot. They move in groups of threes and make
enough noise to wake the dead. Their only saving grace is that they
are quite comical amongst themselves.
But the real hoodlums in this group are
the blackbirds - beady, yellow eyes. I was in utter disbelief the day
one puffed up all his feathers and stared at me with his mouth open
as if getting ready to strike, I quickly ran inside. And yet another
time, one pecked my head while I was walking. They move in packs,
stealing the neighbour's dog food, soak it in the water container on
the lawn, then proceed to eat the soggy dog pellets, and hence the
idea of a flock of birds is nonsense. They're a pack of blackbirds,
like wild dogs, and they're dangerous. When they land and comb the
area by mid-morning, every other bird flees in fear of their life.
Luckily, the lovers are smart
and quick to manoeuvre away from danger. Thankfully, they outnumber
the hooligans. The green, blue and white-lined Tanagers, the
spectacled Thrush, the yellow Oriole, the Bananaquit and the
Hummingbird.
The Oriole, Bananaquit and Hummingbird
are loners. They have the sweetest whistle and never disturb the
others. Although I've noticed the Oriole likes to peck at my garbage,
so it's noted here he's got a sanitation problem. The Hummingbird
just sits on a lone branch on the lime tree and turns his head from
side to side, as if just observing what's going on. The spectacled
Thrush knows that the apple-cores and bread are coming from me. He
and others of his kind come to the window whenever I throw down food,
almost as if to say 'thanks'. They bathe in the drinking water daily,
jumping in and out numerous times. Recently the Thrushes have started
challenging the Kiskadee for food, which is also quite comical and
rewarding to see, a lover being a fighter when needed.
The strangest thing is, they all share
the same tree to bear their children, it's almost as if they have a
peace treaty when it comes to having offspring, that and a
time-sharing option on the Exora tree. Food and water are grounds for
war, but not the rearing of children.
Occasionally there's a baby owl or a
huge corn bird that visits and thus wrecks havoc in the order of this
'community'. When that happens there's mass confusion and the
Kiskadees ring the warning bells. They then assemble and try to chase
away the strangers. It's quite the entertainment - war in the garden.
But everyone jumps to attention when a
Mimus Gilvus (Tropical Mockingbird) comes along. Maybe it's the grey
tail that sticks out so dignified at a 45 degree angle, maybe it's
how upright he stands. He spreads his wings in a two-step fashion,
almost as if preparing for flight, then runs along hurriedly. He is
fearless and swift. Whenever a Mimus lands, birds scatter. I had a
conversation with a Mimus once, it was raining and we whistled back
and forth for over ten minutes, looking at each other through the
window. He probably thought 'Man, that's a weird bird!' But he's my
choice for the man-in-charge. I know some may disagree, but after
careful consideration and thorough observation, I can only cast my
vote in the Tropical Mockingbird's direction. When it's a clear sunny
day, he will stand atop the tallest tree and whistle his song for
nearly an hour, without a care in the world.
So, whenever I go into the garden
nowadays and the black birds watch and size me up for an attack, I
tell them very sternly 'Hey, I know the man-in-charge, so watch it
there guys!' They usually back off, mumbling to themselves.
And that's why, it's always important
to know someone at the top, especially the man-in-charge.
