Birds of a Feather Should Stick Together

It’s been a warm day. The kind that comes towards the end of the blistering summer. The heat is off and cool air is moving in. This also means a change in the air thermals, an important item in navigation. I’m lying on my back in my space in the nest, pecking away at an irksome flea that’s under my wing. If I can get my beak a little closer, that flea is history! Tom, my older brother drops in and says, “On your feet, buddy! The folks are busy packing up. We fly at sunset!

“Already?” I shout. “It’s too early. It’s still roasting out there!”

“Early! Late!” Don’t matter. When the old man says we fly, we fly! Get ready!”

“You guys get going. I’ll catch you up.” I don’t tell him I want to lie back and fantasize about that Bluebird chick I met yesterday. Once one is up in the air you are too busy with the minutiae of flying to think of things unrelated to flying; you have to concentrate on direction, altitude, wind effect, weather, food, water, and worst of all, predators. I remember my good friend, Sam. Caught in a screaming mid-air dive by a hawk. Poor old Sam, he’s probably been pecked clean, now a little pile of bones lying somewhere.

My old man pokes his head into my section of the nest and says, “Don’t wait too long, son, or you’ll never catch up with us! We’re joining a giant flock leaving shortly!” He cocks his head and off they go. I watch the mass moving out, blocking the sun as they eclipse it. I swallow a lump in my throat when I see Jeff, my youngest brother, limping along at the back, on one and a half wings. He hit a branch of a tree practicing his dives. Some bones don’t grow back.

I feel ashamed of myself. I’m the second son, already old enough to leave the family nest and make it on my own, and a few minutes ago I told my father I’d catch up with them. I have no such intention. I’m more concerned with the Bluebird. Hey, why don’t I ask her to come over? The nest is empty now…

I spend a fruitless hour flying around but there’s no sign of her. If she’s in the air I’ll never find her. Probably in that migrating flock that just left. Or maybe she went off with some brightly colored guy. I’m a member of the common or garden type Blackbird tribe, and we’re not much in the way of opposition when it comes to choosing lovers. Ah well.

I flap around pointlessly. I have nothing to do, but I still don’t want to do that with my family. Finally I get her out of mind and start circling and looking for some action, water, food, friends in that order.

In the end, I turn to face south – bird destination for the coming winter holidays. I’m not the only one. The sky is crowded. They must know something about the weather that I don’t. I’m in a bunch now. Some fly slowly and some race past me as though getting to the cool part of the planet will save them. We pass fields, fly over villages and towns. Sometimes we can see the people looking up at us, others ignore us. We’re not that high, perhaps 100 feet.  

Wow! What was that? Some idiot zoomed past me doing at least 180! That’s dangerous flying in such heavy traffic. I see him shoving smaller birds out of his path. Some of his victims will never fly again. Wonder if I can catch him? Teach him some manners? I open my wings to the maximum, take a deep breath, fold my legs up to reduce drag, and go after that crazy nut. I can see him far ahead, dodging and weaving along, probably screeching at others to move out of his way. I edge over to the outside of the bunch, I can still see him but now I can really speed along without obstruction. After another couple of miles, I look back to see him, and I begin moving to my left, so as to get in front of him. Soon he’s coming up behind me. Now he’s right behind me. He screeches at me and I slow down a little. He screeches louder and I move slower. He’s up against my tail feathers and I open my wing brakes. He has to slam on his emergencies so as not to rear-end me and get himself a headache.

We’re moving at a good speed now and I’m tormenting him. Now I’m in front of him. I’m on his left. I’m on his right. I’m above him. I’m under him. I force him to slow. I force him to move to the left and then to the right. He’s angry, fuming. I can hear him: ‘I’ll kill that bloody blackbird! Thinks he’s the Michael Schumacher of the sky! He’ll be feathers and bones when I’m done with him!’

I dive down towards the ground which rises toward me at a frightening rate. At the last moment I pull out and soar straight up. He follows me and I see something that makes me think. He battled to pull out of the dive! I didn’t. Mine was a smooth, well-thought-out movement. His wasn’t. It was jerky and flappy and he had his legs down in case he needed them. Hmm, I wonder if I can lure him into a major dive, say 200 feet? Above a hard surface! I could manage a safe maneuver because I know what’s coming, but he doesn’t. He’ll still be at full speed when he turns into a corpse. It’s worth a try.

So I start teasing him into a rage. Get him when he’s not thinking clearly. All he’ll have on his mind is how to deal with me. Left of him. Right of him. Above him. Below him. It’s working. He flaps his wings like mad as his temper rises. He’s threatening me. ‘I’ll get that black so and so. You’re feathers, mate!’ And I soar and he follows me. 100 feet, 200, 270 and I throw a loop. He’s right behind me. Now I turn into an Olympic dive. Straight down towards a tarmac road. And he comes after me. I wait. And I wait. Until I can see a couple of ants fooling around in the road. And then I hang a vertical U-turn straight out of the text-book.

The poor guy never stood a chance. And there’s a small blob on the black tarmac to prove it.

Now for my holiday!