Good birds gone bad

  

They’re baaaaack. Like clockwork, our feathery friends are returning home. At least I like to think they feel this is their home. This is where they grew up, after all. It’s where they learned to fly, where they ate their first insect, and where they sang their first love song (sigh).  

For all you non-birders, you may be tempted to stop reading at this point. I hear you. For most of my life, I was never interested in birds either... Until I hit 40. 

So let’s begin with the sequence of migratory bird arrivals.... The robins come first, then the chipping sparrows and the crows (or is it the crows that come first? But do we really care?) Next, according to my bird journal, will be the yellow-rumped warblers and purple martins, with the rest coming in May – you know, when it’s kind of warm in Saskatchewan. 

The bird feeder in front of our house has already attracted two pairs of house finches. Last year we had about twelve of them by the end of the season. We also had two gray partridges (commonly known as prairie chickens) eat the leftover seed – like clockwork, they would come by at suppertime. 

The Canadian geese are making their presence known around Regina’s premier lake known as the Great Wascana (it sounds grander) by squawking uncontrollably and engaging in epic neck battles. Recently, I was harassed by a rather fiesty male who hissed at me from a ledge as I walked by him and his mate. He then proceeded to fly over my head and land in front of me. Blocking my way, I had to cautiously outmaneuver the angry bird and its horrible hisses. It was all very Hitchcockesque. 

I must confess, I don’t like these birds. Even though we call them Canadian, they're quite rude. They’ve done a little too well in our cushy urban environments where they no longer have the natural instinct called fear. Traffic comes to a standstill when they meander across the street, children (and some adults) scream in terror when they hiss at us, and acres of otherwise luscious park lawn lay in ruin from their defecation!  

But I digress... Getting back to the cuter birds, I enjoy the yellow warblers the most. Do you know they travel all the way from South America, flapping their little wings for thousands of kilometres – even sleeping while they go – across the Gulf of Mexico (this could get me banned from the United States)? They then try their best to do a non-stop flyover across the U.S., mostly to avoid customs and you-know-who.

Once in Canada, they enjoy our free healthcare, our tolerant society and our diversity. Not only do we welcome yellow warblers, after all, but also dark-eyed juncos, grey catbirds, and even magpies, who, more often than not, get caught up in the illicit birdseed trade. And yes, we still appreciate our American species, Tennessee warblers and Baltimore orioles included. 

You know you’re approaching 50 when you start going on birding tours. My wife and I have begun an annual pilgrimage to remote places like Avonlea, Saskatchewan (population: 411) to see the meadowlarks, vesper sparrows and western kingbirds. It’s a blast. The tour always ends with the viewing of a pair of mountain bluebirds who live in a birdhouse alongside a desolate rural road (exact location undisclosed... you can borrow our birding book). 

 But one doesn’t have to travel far to find a variety of birds. Many nest around the Great Wascana including kingfishers, brown thrashers and ruddy ducks. Last year, we were fortunate to have a scarlet tanager visit the city for a week. It attracted many tourists from Avonlea and beyond.  

And let’s not forget my favourite of all ducks, the American widgeon. Yes, they’re American, but judging by their time spent in Canada, I think they lean Democrat. Years ago, I became fascinated by these ducks with the white stripe on their heads who are born one year, then die the next. Yes, these poor creatures have a lifespan of only two years. And, to speed things along, their young are independent as soon as they hatch. Unlike those overly protective hissing hordes of geese, the father takes off while the mother practices free-range parenting.

Isn’t nature grand?

Happy birding, everyone!

A rapidly aging American widgeon