Awhile back I wrote of the bird flight school in our back yard. We have since opened a restaurant for the young pilots and their families. A bird feeder hangs off the main deck at the rear of our house. It's about 25-30 feet above grade, which allows for a perfect view of the birds' approach patterns through the trees.
Proper procedure seems to be thus: a bird will fly to a particular tree on the edge of the property, then to another that's a little closer, and so forth. When the tower (wherever that is) has cleared him to land, here he comes, dead centerline right up to the gate, and it's chow time!
Naturally, there are jet jockeys who butt in line. One that I call Loudmouth flies straight in, regardless of who's lined up ahead of him. He announces himself good and loud at the outer marker, then rushes in. He aims for some occupied gate, frightening away the smaller bird already feeding there. I watched a big male cardinal swoop in once and run him off. Maybe the cardinal was with the Avian FAA.
I have no idea what species these little birds are. A Peterson's Field Guide suggests that they are wrens, nuthatches, and I forget what all. There are little bitty blue birds, and dusky reds. Some are bright yellow, and some have black wing stripes that bring to mind a '68 Camaro.
I have no intention of becoming an expert in such matters -- only to enjoy this part of retirem... Oh, look! There's a hummingbird!
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