Someone Fought Here

My sister, when she visited, noticed a male cardinal attacking his own reflection in a garage window and told me. I came out, saw him doing it (he lives with his family and loudly sings his territorial song in a nearby tree) and hollered at him, "Stop that! Do you want to leave your children without a father?!" Problem solved. Until today, a windy April day, when he left evidence that he's been at it again: a red feather left wedged in a garage windowpane so cracked, as it has been for years now, that I had taped it both inside and out to prevent its shattering while the roofers worked. It's not neatly taped, but it didn't break.

It hung together well enough for the cardinal to imagine, today, that he was again seeing a rival in its reflection, and he fought valiantly, leaving one of his feathers. I checked nearby and didn't find a little bright-red body, so I assume he was the victor. I've seen cardinals--killed instantly--ricochet as far as 12 feet from glass they've flown straight into.

The Sibley bird guide says windows are the #1 killer of birds, taking about 998 million lives a year. That's almost a billion, and twice the number of birds killed by feral cats.

Part of the difficulty was in taking this picture, because there are reflections everywhere, inside and out. I went outside a second time to try to compose a single picture that'd tell the whole story, but the feather had blown away.

The Story of the Baby Cardinal

Today the male cardinal here sang his slide-whistle sound, a territorial song, sure sign of mating and spring. I've heard him as early as February 6 but I'll take him anytime. Reminds me of the spring that Demetrius parked his truck in the city on a tree-lined street, went to work, drove home 30 miles and then saw a live baby cardinal in the truck bed. Must have fallen from its nest into the truck.

Demetrius didn't tell me; he knew I'd fuss and maybe cry, and figured the little thing wouldn't live long (might have been in the truck bed all day) but the next morning it was still alive and looked him right in the eye and opened its mouth -- a language all live things understand. It wanted to be fed.

Demetrius phoned the Bird Sanctuary and then a songbird-rescue shelter and they said to put the cardinal in a paper bag, roll the top over, and bring it. By the time the indignant bird was in the bag Demetrius was fond of it and had named it Ounce. He returned to the shelter the next day before work and watched the rescue people feed Ounce by putting food paste on its beak.

He visited Ounce a third time and said the rescuer was a bit brusque and after he told me the whole story I said don't go back without a $25 donation and he took my advice.

For the rest of his life if Demetrius needed cheering up I reminded him that there are generations of cardinals because he was good to just one.

Poor Cardinal

The enormous "thunk" against the window late yesterday afternoon must have been Lady Cardinal. Window accidents happen around here about every four months or so; most of the time the birds survive. But this fatal impact knocked her about twelve feet to the side of the window, next to the stoop. Of course when I found her it was far too late and I could only study her as I usually don't get to study my live cardinals. At first I thought the downy feathers indicated she was a juvenile, because my cardinal pairs have been prolific this season, but that's not so; she has a cardinal adult's red-orange beak. Downy feathers are just the secret vest beneath the elegantly understated suits that female cardinal birds wear. I got to see the gradient of gray into red. I didn't know cardinal birds had such relatively large but fragile-looking, straw-colored feet. Then -- saddest words in the language -- I buried her, near a tree she seemed to have liked. And when I opened the garage door to put away the shovel I got a surprise -- a live turtle was there, apparently got in while the door was open, and it was waiting right on the threshold for someone to raise the door.