Squirrels, Blackbirds,
Mallards and Lester
Springtime at the Tudor household brings with it a gaggle, a
murder, and/or a flock of birds that have called my pond home, or at least, a
place to hang out. One of the important attractions of the raucous gang
that shows up most mornings is the adjacent bird feeder that I dutifully fill.
My aim is to attract colorful song birds that stop for lunch during migration,
or for longer periods depending upon their habits. This spring was no
exception. A diverse mix of animals gathered here this spring just as in
previous years. Thus far, our warmer weather has brought forth the expected
bevy of birds; some wanted, others not so much, just as in previous springs.
Over the years we have had a number of unexpected, and a few
unwanted birds. The unwanted critters have been mostly domesticated birds who
were not sufficiently corralled. They came from somewhere in the neighborhood,
ending up at my pond and my bird feeder. A few years ago, one of my neighbors
decided to raise guineas. After only a few days one of the guineas found my
pond and quickly explained its location to the rest of the flock, and gave them
details about the free bird feed found on the ground below the feeder. Suddenly,
the bird seed began disappearing at an alarming rate courtesy of the guinea
flock that began a daily raid. The raids ended when the flock disappeared. I
don’t remember how or why, only that the owner of the birds stopped their
pilgrimages to my feeder somehow. It was probably a sad story involving large
dinners cooked at home.
The next major surprise happened the following summer when a
large peacock decided to roost on my porch railing – the railing that overlooks
the pond and feeder. He was an interesting critter to watch for a few days that
suddenly became weeks. The last straw of his visits occurred when he began
leaving his droppings on the porch that the railing protected. I managed his
departure by engaging the owner of a nearby zoo.
“How would you like to add a wayward peacock to your menagerie
of animals?” I asked innocently. He paused. “For free,” I quickly added. That
seemed to convince him. We arranged for him to come pick up the bird after I
had safely corralled him without damage to his beautiful tail.
Fortunately, I had met a farm boy who knew how to obtain a
turkey dinner without firing a shot. He explained that he had been feeding a flock
of wild turkeys with corn. He used a metal pan to carry shelled corn to the
birds, shaking the pan as he approached them. After some while, the birds
associated the noise from the metal pan as the signal for food. Thus trained,
he said it was a simple matter to shake the pan as he entered his enclosed bird
pen with the birds closely following. He closed the door to the pen while the
greedy birds were feeding on the grain he had scattered. Thereafter he had
turkey dinners on a regular basis.
I decided to use a slight variation of his ruse for
capturing the peacock. Lacking an enclosed bird pen, I made a trail of corn to
the man door of my garage that I had left ajar. Inside the garage I had
sprinkled a handful of grain. The peacock seemed to have the same mindset as
the turkeys, the cock of the walk followed me inside while I made a phone call
to the zoo keeper. The keeper came to my garage and captured the bird. He
showed me how. Once he had wrapped his arms around the bird to prevent the
flapping wings from damage, he used his other hand to grasp the bird’s legs.
Once he had the legs in hand, he flipped the bird upside down and the animal
became instantly docile, submitting to the zoo keeper and his cage in the back
of his pick-up.
This year we’ve had neither peacock, guinea, nor wild turkey,
but another interesting bird who has been regularly visiting our feeder: this
year the surprise is a chicken. A big black one. The big bird arrives at our
feeder through the forest that surrounds the pond, thus hiding his neighborhood
home. At first, we thought it was a hen as we watched the critter dig into the
soft soil to make what seemed to be a roost, nestling in place like it wanted
to lay an egg. Then it crowed. Its first attempt at crowing was a hoot. It
seemed not to know how to crow as the best it could do was a scratchy whistle,
repeating the attempt several times before giving up. That was several days
ago. In the intervening period he has become better at crowing, throwing his
head back and emitting a loud screech for several seconds. For some reason, the
sound brings a smile to my face.
I call him Lester. Yesterday Lester was feeding at his
customary spot, quickly pecking at the cracked corn that I had sprinkled around
the base of the feeder. The usual assemblage of critters joined Lester and each
seemed to be competing in collecting the corn and the myriad sunflower seeds
that the wild song birds were throwing to the ground from the feeder above. The
assembly included two squirrels (one gray fox squirrel and one super-speedy red
squirrel who can’t seem to get along with anyone) one drake from the pond, a
dozen blackbirds, and the biggest of the assembly, Lester. Each of the critters
ignored the others except for the red squirrel who irritated everyone else.
They were fun to watch. They ate most of the corn and seeds in one morning.
The following day Lester was alone at the feeder. He soon
began crowing. His meaning was unmistakable – he wanted more corn. I got up
from my easy chair and secured several cups of cracked corn. I must have been
too slow as Lester had wandered away by the time I arrived at the feeding
station. That was when I decided he was to be forever known as Lester. I called
out to him, Lester, Lester, Lester. It was enough, he came running over to me,
afraid, it seemed, at that other birds, squirrels, or ducks might steel what
was rightfully his. I watched as he pecked the ground furiously before I could pick
up my bucket. I don’t think he even noticed my leaving.
I’ll keep you appraised about how Lester is doing as the
spring turns into summer.
