Have you ever read one of those bird books that describes the songs of songbirds in English onomatopoeic terms? You know:
I used to think those things were so full of shit. I’ve had my share of ornithology. I’ve been into the field with professional birders. I’ve even listened to the occasional instructional tape to try to hone my birding skills.
Yes, I’m a naturalist geek.
But none of those freaking descriptions were accurate. I’d be all like, “Yeah, I hear the bird. No, the goddamn thing still doesn’t sound like ‘chim-chiminy-chee.’ I don’t know what the heck it would sound like if translated to English onomatopoeia, but ‘chim-chiminy-chee’ ain’t it. I don’t care if it’s been through committee.”
I never thought a whippoorwill sounded like “whip-poor-will.”
Well, all that’s changed.
There is a bird outside, on a limb close to my window, that is speaking very clearly to me. In English. He is saying, with absolute lucidity, and with stunning repetition, “Chicory Chicory Chicory Choo.”
This is not onomatopoeia. This is English. I feel like I’ve had an epiphany. This should be a grand, glorious moment in my understanding of the world.
Why then do I desperately want a .410 and some birdshot?
Could have something to do with the fact that the little bastard’s been there all day long.
