Summary

The text recounts the author's personal experiences and fondness for birds, detailing interactions with pet parakeets, the joy of observing wild birds, and the challenges of bird feeding, all while reflecting on the significance of National Bird Day.

Abstract

The author expresses a deep-rooted affection for birds, stemming from childhood experiences with a talking parakeet named Addy and later Chris, who was taught to speak using a phonograph record. The narrative includes anecdotes of raising canaries, the paradoxical enjoyment of hunting birds for sport, and the amusing yet problematic behavior of squirrels and grackles around bird feeders. A mysterious incident involving a bird flying into the author's home during a Minnesota winter adds a touch of wonder to the personal tale. The author concludes by acknowledging a missed opportunity to celebrate National Bird Day and commits to honoring it in the future, emphasizing the joy birds have brought to their life.

Opinions

The author harbors a profound love for birds, inherited from their mother, and enjoys their company and behaviors.
Birds have been a significant part of the author's life, from pet parakeets that were taught to speak to the wild birds they hunted and observed.
The author finds beauty in the courtship rituals of cardinals and the songs of canaries, indicating a deep appreciation for avian life.
Despite enjoying hunting birds, the author respects them enough to ensure they are properly prepared for cooking by their mother, who is skilled in preparing wild game.
The author faces practical challenges with bird feeding, such as squirrels raiding feeders and the proliferation of weeds from scattered seeds, leading to a decision to stop feeding the birds.
A sense of mystery and concern is expressed when a bird inexplicably enters the author's home, with the author hoping for its survival in harsh winter conditions.
The author is intrigued by an unusual gathering of various bird species in winter, which is out of the ordinary for the region.
The author values the concept of National Bird Day and intends to commemorate it in the future as a tribute to the pleasure birds have provided throughout their life.

National Bird Day

Did you celebrate National Bird Day?

I learned too late that January 5, 2024, was National Bird Day. I would have written about birds then if I had known sooner.

I love birds. I love watching them feed, primp, and court.

A few years back I got to witness the courtship of a Cardinal couple. Such a beautiful song and dance.

I inherited my love for our feathered friends from my mother.

When I was in grammar school, she bought a Parakeet that we named Addy and taught it to talk.

Like the bird in the photo above, Addy had blue and white feathers with black tips on the wings and tail. We kept his cage open, and Addy would often fly over, land on my shoulder, and put his head up against my neck or peck at my ear. Sometimes he would sit there and talk to me repeating all the words and phrases he knew.

Addy loved to say, “Canaries are cute, but they can’t talk.”

After Addy, we got another Parakeet, much the same color as Addy. We named the new bird Chris, because we got him a few days before Christmas.

Chris learned to talk even better than Addy. He’d say things like “Chris is a pretty boy” and “you are such a pretty bird.” Chris showed just a bit of vanity.

Chris, too, had the rule of the house, but never left the living room where we kept his cage.

To teach Chris to talk, my mother bought a 45-rpm record with certain words and phrases repeated over and over on it. She would cover Chris’s cage, place it near the phonograph, and play the record over and over. In this manner, Chris acquitted a vocabulary of several hundred words and phrases.

Chris would sit on a perch in his cage, nuzzle up to a small mirror hanging nearby, talk to his image in the mirror, peck at it, and attempt to feed it as if it were another bird. We enjoyed listening to him tell “the other bird” how beautiful she was.

Later my mother got a pair of Canaries and started raising Canaries. We enjoyed their beautiful songs and the flashes of yellow as they flew from perch to perch in their cage. The Canaries mated and we soon had a large cage full of chirping Canaries flitting about.

My mother loved her birds and made sure they had plenty of food and water. Occasionally, she hung a special seedball treat in their cage. A couple of times a week she’d remove the newspaper lining from the bottom of the cage and replace it with fresh paper.

So, I come by my love of birds naturally.

However, this love did not stop me from enjoying hunting all kinds of birds (ducks, geese, quail, doves, pheasants, and grouse) with my dad when I was a kid. I hunted from age 12 until I left home for college at age 18. I loved shooting birds for food and for the sport of it.

Mom refused to touch them until we plucked and cleaned them, but once we gave them to her ready to cook, she’d gladly cook them. She knew how to cook wild game. Since Dad and I loved to hunt, it worked out well.

How can someone love birds and love hunting them? Good question. I don’t know the answer. I just did.

For many years, I put out several feeders and attracted a variety of birds; however, the squirrels kept getting into the feeders. I tried everything to keep them out without success. Still, watching their antics was great fun, too.

The Grackles also created problems. A flock of them could empty the feeders about as fast as I could fill them. They scattered seeds all over, which the doves and other ground-feeders loved.

The birds and squirrels scattering the seeds about created another problem: weeds. Between the squirrels and the weeds in the lawn, I finally gave up feeding the birds.

I made the mistake years ago of emptying the thistle feeder out behind the shed. Ever since, I’ve battled thistles that pop up about as fast as I can dig them up.

I have an amazing winter bird story to tell.

One sub-zero winter day here in Minnesota, after bringing groceries in from the car, we heard a fluttering and saw a shadow zip across the doorway into the dining room. Upon investigation, we found a bird flying crazily around the living room and dining area.

Using a trick I learned from my mother, I got a bath towel and waited for the bird to land. When it did, I tossed the towel over it and scooped it up.

Not knowing what to do with it, we took it outside and released it. I sure hope it survived in that cold, cold weather.

How that bird got into our house is a mystery. We’ve no idea where it came from or how it got in. It was a Blackbird or perhaps a Grackle. Too small for a Crow or Raven.

Photo of Grackle by Sneha Cecil on Unsplash

Another bird mystery happened on a winter day some years later.

Snow still covered the grass, and the bushes and trees hadn’t begun to leaf out yet. I heard a commotion and looked out the living room window.

Outside I could see dozens of Cedar Wax Wings, Robins, Sparrows, Finches, and various other kinds of birds that we never see here in winter. They were hopping around, flying up into the bushes, and darting here and there. I’ve never seen so many kinds of birds in one place before. We normally never see them here at that time of year. Where did they come from? How did they get here?

Next year I’ll try to remember that January 5 is National Bird Day. It’s a day I want to remember to celebrate. It’s the least I can do for our fine feathered friends who have provided me so much pleasure and enjoyment over the years.

Happy birding, dear friends.