We are in the warzone.
There’s a bird war going on.
3 have dive bombed my French doors.
Chirping, squawking, flapping, guerilla fighting. It’s, simply a territory thing.
I hope.
Son-of-a-wrek went on a snake recon. Poking around. Looking in trees. That’s a usual cause.
See, here’s the thing, the noise disturbs the cats. They’re allover this shit. Siamese are not silent hunters like their nearest relatives, the tiger.
They loud.
Causes the dog to run around trying to understand what’s going on. Birds don’t directly affect them. 'Cept cats do.
That creates kids acting stupid.
Then the adults are discombobulated.
And, jinx!, I have to get up and shut the whole mess down.
I get up. Walk, such as I can, to the deck. Look west. About head level, in a tree, 20 or 25ft from me, I see it.
Darting, evil eyes. A smirk on his face. A curious tilt of his head. Perched.
In all his blue be-feathered glory.
A kinda large specimen: Cyanocitta cristata.
Yep. Blue jay.
Asshole of the bird world.
But dang, he’s pretty.
And he definitely knows it.
Also asshole birds: hummingbirds.
They look so pretty and sweet, zipping around and hovering and iridescing. But I see their behavior at the feeder. There are four feeding stations. Doesn’t matter, only one at a time can be in use, because the little assholes can’t stand to see another bird feeding at the same time that they are feeding. They’d rather spend their time chasing other birds away instead of feeding themselves.
Shortly after we moved in here there was a LOUD banging from the guest room at 6:30 am. I went up and was confronted by a Sandhill Crane on the other side of the (tempered) window, fighting his reflection. I you have not seen a Sandhill, they’re huge and prehistoric. Our younger pit mix keeps wanting to mix it up with them, but I have to tell him he’ll get his ass kicked.
I have say, he’s a persistent cuss.
Big bunch here, on the deck and yard. Badminton goin’ down. Hollering.
Son-of-a-wrek is boiling shrimp for little sisters birthday.
That bird don’t care. I had crows under the feeders til he pushed them out. He sat on the well-house roof and any time the crows crowded in down he came like a jet bomber. They’d scatter. He’d eat a seed or two and back to the little roof.
The little song birds have long moved on into the brush.
One Cardinal thought he’d hang while Mr. Blue jay was snacking. He wasn’t having any of it. He flew at him and Cardinal took a powder.
As I’m assigned a seat and not allowed to ramble around I’ve been entertained by the birds.
I understand that blue jays are never seen on Fridays because they are required to carry a grain of sand to Hell so that the Devil may bank his fires for the sabbath.
Have you considered leaving a calendar open to Friday where it may be seen from the doors in question?
I’d prefer not to have any dealings with the devil. Blue jays have their own schedule to keep.
I did see the Blue Jay again Sunday afternoon. The dogs were out. And big Mr. Jay was not happy about it. He was making a big fuss. The other corvids scattered. The dogs weren’t concerned at all.
