A Friend of a Friend

Day 266: These are Rob's photos from a couple of days ago. Some of you may have already seen them on Facebook, but since I had not yet blogged them, and since there are updates, they are my choice for today's post.

Y'see, a couple of decades ago, I rehabbed an Evening Grosbeak with a broken wing. He was in my care for a month before I returned him to the wild. I dubbed him Friend (some of you may know where to find "Friend's Story" as an adjunct to 365Caws). After his release, he returned to visit me throughout the season and, I firmly believe, the following two or three years. Since then, I have always wondered if he somehow related the circumstances of our relationship to his offspring, because almost every year, there is at least one Grosbeak who shows no fear of me. That said, the closest I had ever gotten to any of them was when Follower tagged along behind me as I went out to the garage, and I had to shoo him gently out.

That's the backstory. This little feller had already eaten out of my hand while sitting on the bird feeder, but I wasn't expecting him to get ON the hand, and especially not in front of company. It's enormously difficult to document these events, and people tend not to believe you unless they have witnessed it. But there you have it: bird in the hand, worth way more than two in the bush! Today brought another surprise. When I went out to fill the feeders, my little pal hopped onto my forearm, walked down it, took a seed from my palm and then settled in on the edge of the feeder while eating from the handful I was holding. I think I've made a friend for life...a friend, perhaps, of Friend.

Tree Trio

Day 63: I put out the seed first thing in the morning like I normally do, then settled in to work on Mousie's quilt with my back to the window. It wasn't long after that I heard a familiar and unmistakable "CHURP!" I wasn't expecting Porch Parrot guests, but when I turned around and looked at the feeder, it was elbow-room only, at least six Evening Grosbeaks inside and several others perched in the contorted filbert and on the shepherd's hooks nearby. There were at least a dozen, mostly males, demanding that the Chickadees (equally abundant now) budge up and accord them first privilege. I tend to think of my parrots as fair-weather friends, in the sense that they normally only come around in spring and summer, but then I remind myself that it was a cold January and February when I cared for Friend while his broken wing mended and he was able to be released back into the wild. I'd like to believe that one or more of my winter parrots might be descended from him, for surely these are the offspring of his flock, following the same map to my door and the limitless supply of black-oil seed.