Hungry Mouths

Photo copyright Wings, 2014; all rights reserved.

Dad to the rescue:

Photo copyright Wings, 2014; all rights reserved.

Those are Bullock's Orioles. Occasionally, they've shown up briefly here and there; not every year. The last two summers, they've arrived for two to three weeks, then disappeared again.

This year has been different.

The magpies scattered at least six nests around the vicinity of what passes for a house, two in the piñon trees directly outside the window. Which is to say, close enough to touch. They also did so very early; last year, our magpies hatched in late June/early July; this year, it was in May. They pretty clearly decided that they felt safer nearby, despite the presence of two tall, gawky, featherless birds and three less-gigantic-but-still-large furry four-legged birds. Oh, and the occasional 1,200-pound one permitted to graze by the birdbath.

Good for the magpies, but not generally so good for smaller birds. Magpies are, after all, quite large. Also extraordinarily intelligent, verbal, and assertive.

So we expected few if any smaller birds to try making a home this close.

About six weeks ago, the Orioles showed up at the feeder: the male first, tentatively, checking to ensure that all was safe; a few days later, his bride. The mostly came independently of each other, although on a few occasions, it was apparent that he was escorting her.

But it was very hit-or-miss. We might see them two or three times one day, then not at all for the next four or five.

I did see them, particularly the male, flying into and cross the field to the west, and thence across the highway. Once in a while, he'd perch in the chamisa and talk to me as I went past, but always at a safe distance.

And then one day, in the aspens right outside the front door, above the picnic table where we eat when it's nice enough to do so outside, Wings noticed a nest. It was still in its early stages of construction, but clearly being put together efficiently and rapidly. A few days later, we saw Mr. and Mrs. making their way between the nest and the feeder. And then we knew that little ones would follow.

This is . . . unusual. They are not particularly trusting birds, and not especially social with other species. But they seem to feel safe here, and that they can trust their little ones around us. And they remained, despite the fact that we found the battered and broken body of one of the little ones on the ground beneath the tree a couple of weeks ago; it appears that either one of the red-wings or one of the ravens got it. 

And Mom and Dad are not in the least afraid to chase off larger birds. We've watched them harry blackbirds, magpies, and even the ravens. But after such a loss, we were afraid they might abandon the nest.

Instead, a couple of days ago, the female jumped down onto the picnic table while I stood outside the door, just two or three yards away. All three dogs lay on the grass, each within a yard of her, and each looked directly at her before returning to stare fascinatedly at blades of grass. She looked at each of us in turn, and began to talk. She jumped down onto the grass, then up onto the birdbath for a drink, then back down onto the grass again.  

Walking, talking.

After a few minutes, she jumped back up onto the table, looked me in the eye once more, then flew back up to her children.

I like to think she was telling me about them, proudly as any other mother.