Mocking birds are one of the easiest birds for me to
recognize. They’re in your face, not
afraid of much of anything, sing all the time every other birds’ repertoire,
tail in the air, grey with white. How
can you miss them? The other day I saw
an iridescent brown mocking bird… Ok,
mutant in my yard. Tail in the air,
perched on top of the bird feeder, a singing filial.
Chris called from the window, “Look, in the bird
bath. What is that?” It was the mutant, dunking and fuzzing itself
out. With great authority I pronounced,
“It’s that mutant mocking bird.”
She went on, unfazed, valiantly trying to ignore her
weird husband. “It’s so pretty, look at
its chest.”
That was her diplomatic method for trying to tell me I
was nuts. She should work for the state
department. And looking at it, it was
pretty, and different. It was
speckled. There was something too
consistently different. So go to the
bird book. There it was, plain as
day. A Brown Thrasher. Not as common as the Mocking Bird, a bit more
shy, but it sang with the same imitative call and it liked to perch on peaks,
like the top of the bird feeder, a speckled chest, and a rufous back.
‘Rufous?’
Webster’s was the next stop. “Reddish brown. Can be iridescent in certain light.”
New word. New
bird. New fascination for my
lovely. I’d say that was a good day.
Rufous to you too.
