The Finale of our adventures with all the birds you really need to know, is, of course, the humble pigeon, or “Rock Dove” (which was a lesser-known single off Fred Schneider’s solo career. He doesn’t talk about it much), which is another bird that people hate because they’ve adapted to human civilization so very well. “Filthy things! Look at them, eating garbage!” as if their food supply, you know, fell off great orchards of invisible Garbage Trees, or simply blew into town like tumbleweeds made of Big Mac wrappers.

You gonna eat the rest of that?

But enough with the social commentary, let us consider the pigeon in and of itself.

The pigeon has two things going for it: one is their coloration. Pigeons have a remarkable color ranges: you see it a lot in our neighborhood, where I think the wild population has been cross-breading with racing birds. But even the normal, garden variety pidge has that remarkable iridescent ring around their neck and the blue-gray coloring.

It’s in flight that pigeons are really fantastic, that ungainly body swooping in large circles, great flocks of them covering the sky. Did you know that pigeons can out fly Peregrine Falcons? It’s true. And the reason why they’re so slow to get out of the way of cars is that they see things much faster than we do: it’s like you’re moving in slow motion—that’s right, it doesn’t occur to a pigeon that you might be a threat to it.

But I’ll grant you that the Pidge may not have the most well-thought-out shape in the avian world. It lacks the sleek sharpness of a Blue Jay or the petite uber-cuteness of a Titmouse. It seems to be made up large of bumps, like a stack of bowling balls in a burlap sack, jostling over each other. Walking, a pigeon’s body can’t quite seem to agree which direction it’s going: chest forward, tail back, head in a complete panic of falling over. And then there are the feet, with all the design elegance of a Soviet automobile.

So, you should give a bit of credit to the common Rock Dove. It’s bird you should know. But just make sure you never, ever let anyone know you admire it. They’ll give you dirty looks out of the side of their eyes, and walk quickly away, muttering… much like a pigeon.

Ducks!

Just say it over and over again! Ducks ducks ducks ducks ducks! Even the name is infused with joy, and that is because for sheer happiness, no animal bests the duck.

Perhaps Animal Reviews said it best:

Personality wise, the duck is unsurpassed. They do their best to get along with absolutely everyone, and always swim over to say hello. They even get on with swans, who are well known for their mood swings and prima donna behaviour.

Perhaps their greatest achievement however is the hilarious way in which they move around. On land, ducks stagger and lurch like a drunk with a gammy leg. Flying is little better – they look likely to crash land at any given moment. Watching them swim is fascinating. Ducks never seem to actually go anywhere at all, preferring to spend their time instead pretending to be mini hovercrafts. They turn in 360 degree circles all the time. Why? Just because they can. Fantastic.

Ducks have been clinically proven to be an antidote for mild depression. Feeling a little blue? Head down to your local pond and like a herd of miniature concierges, the ducks will surround you, attempting to wow you with their comic antics and general good outlook on life. All they ask in return is a little food (Please, do not try to fool them by pulling blades of grass—you’re only embarrassing yourself further. If you don’t have any feed for them, that’s okay, they’ll wander off, no ill feeling, no harm done guv’nor, these things happen. Should you return later, you’ll get the exact same treatment. Ducks hold no grudges.

Hey Human! Look at my butt!

Me, I could while away a whole afternoon with your garden variety pond duck (pondus duckus). Identification is dead simple, you listen for the distinctive “quack” or simply watch for a spot where two year olds are running after them: ducks are genetically engineered to be slightly faster than a toddler running at top speed. Or perhaps they’re merely humoring the kid. That’d be just like them. Good ol’ ducks.

I don’t think that I’m going too far out on a ledge to say that ducks are the best bird ever, and are a truly remarkable story, adapting perfectly to human society and filling an ecological niche wherever gumball machines filled with dry dog food (which I think reproduce in a mushroom-like way, via spores) happen to spring up.

My wife has asked me to point out here that I am more precisely talking about Mallards, and that there are many kinds of ducks, some of whom are extremely skittish around people. This, to me, points out the central insanity of the birdwatcher: they don’t like ducks.

Birders would call this a “duck.” Not even close.

Or rather, they do like ducks, ducks can be very exciting and they will drive hours and hours away to see one: provided it is a) rare and b) does not want to be seen. In other words, isn’t a proper duck at all, but might as well be a swan. And nobody likes swans. Not even birders.

The Shaz has asked me to mention that one of her favorite sites, Mike’s Digiscoping Blog is shutting down. Let’s hope it’s only a haitus, as his images are pretty remarkable. Check it out, yo.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Also going around on twitter is an incredible photo of a red-tailed hawk in the middle of a cloud of bats.  I have no idea who took the photo, but it’s fabulous.

Okay, so hopefully you’ve gotten the identification of Sparrow down pat. If not, there’s no hope for you, and you’re destined to lead a lonely, sheltered life, fearing the companionship of your fellow man. Which, ironically, makes you a perfect candidate to be a bird watcher. But I kid the birders.

Let us now move briskly on to the other type of bird you just saw, the Crow. In contrast to the Sparrow, which is vile, corrupt mockery of all that is righteous in the world but which is extremely popular—the Internet Explorer 6 of birds, if you will—the Crow is, in fact, a fairly awesome bird which people hate. People hate Crows so much you’d think they horked in the back of their car, or had a reality show.

This is not an unreasonable reaction. Crows have several things working against them, the first being is that while Crows are cool, they know it. Crows don’t walk, they strut, making sure that you notice them without acting like they’re making sure you notice them. I don’t think that anyone would disagree that Crows have what Vice-Principals the world over would describe as “an attitude problem,” before adding “Mister” with a very significant period at the end, because Crows are basically the teenagers of the bird world. You’ll often find them hanging around behind feeders, sneaking a smoke. Chase them off and they’ll simply fly off—slooooowly—to the nearest tree, glaring at you without looking like they’re glaring at you. You can almost hear them mutter “bogus,” and “whut-evah, grand-dad.”

Yeah, I’ll get right on that. Watch me go. Zoom.

I can hear my wife cringing from across town as I write this, because she can’t stand anthropomorphization of animals. But it doesn’t really apply to Crows, because I feel they are so very human, which is, again, part of the reason why people don’t like them. They’re cooperative, family-based, and part of the reason they’ve been so successful is that they’ve adapted to humanity, eating the roadkill (created by us) and garbage (likewise).

So, it can be easy to hate on Crows, but nonetheless I urge you take another look at them: I honestly really like them. Crows can be a lot of fun to watch, provided they don’t know you’re watching them: they play pass-the-stick and have this weird cartwheeling game they play in the park in the winter. And winter is the best time to watch crows, because that’s when they lose some of their smugness and are, like the rest of us, just trying to get from A to B. Their strut becomes a trudge as they try to make their way through the snow, and they’ll hang in the trees, wrapped in their feathers like trench coats. They hang out at my bus stop, probaby waiting for the cross-town to take them to the U. campus, where they are no-doubt studying Russian Formalism and smoking hand-rolled cigarettes. And as we stand there, both freezing our butts off, they’ll shake off the snow with a shudder as if to say “this weather is b.s.”

Yes, yes it is.

Sharon tells me that the Crows we have around our house are notoriously hard to take pictures of (again, like teenagers), so your best bet is try try and snap a picture with a motion-sensitive camera like the  Wingscapes Birdcam. Both items are available at the Birdchick’s OpenSky Store, and 20% of the profits are donated to the ABA’s kids programs.

As an added bonus, if you enter the coupon code Sharon1009, you’ll get an additional 10% off your OpenSky order.

Birdwatching: hobby for the insane?

Surprisingly, no! Even those who are merely married to a birder can learn to appreciate our fine feathered friends, albeit against your will. In an effort to help the non-birding spouse, I’ll be collecting my thoughts on birds here on the Birdchick Blog. Think of it as a field guide, except it’s a) free and b) useful.

I like birds. My nickname is Non Birding Bill not because I hate birds, but because I don’t go birdwatching (also because my wife knows a lot of Bills, and saying “My Husband” was too complicated, apparently). In fact, everybody likes birds, and knowing a few bird facts can be a nice ice breaker with people who are completely out of the loop, birding wise (i.e., sane).

The first thing you need to know is that in the city, every bird you see is a House Sparrow. Unless it’s a duck, of course. But otherwise, it’s a sparrow. They’re the small brown birds that you see bee bopping around when you’re outside. And I mean everywhere: the reason you need to learn how to ID a sparrow is that any time you see a bird, it’s a sparrow. In fact the likelihood of a bird being a sparrow is directly proportional to your certaintly that it is not a sparrow. Think you’ve got a Chestnut-sided Warbler in your yard? It’s a sparrow. Unusual hummingbird at your feeder? Sparrow. Small farm animals being carried off in the night? Sparrow.

Look into the face of a killer.

Sparrows are the hydrogen molecule of birds; they’re so common they make a handy point of reference, and every other bird can be expressed in terms of how much like or unlike a sparrow it is. So, if youre going to watch a bird, you need to know the sparrow.

What else do you need to know about sparrows? For starters, they’re complete bastards. Totally, completely evil birds. They don’t bother people because in addition to being evil, they’re smart, and have figured out that the key to surviving is not bothering people. So they bebop around, acting all cute and harmless and “oh look at me, I’m stealing a breadcrumb! I’m so naughty!” And then they fly off, find a bluebird sitting on a nest, and kill her by pecking her to death while she’s on her eggs. Seriously.

House Sparrows were introduced to America (”Hello, nice to meet you.”) by a dude who wanted every bird in Shakespeare to be present in America, which is just another reason to hate Shakespeare in my wife’s book. The odd thing is that while they’re over here commiting more murders than the franchises of CSI and Law and Order put together, House Sparrows are on the decline in Europe.

That, in a nutshell, is everything I know, and therefore, everything your non-birding spouse, needs to know about the evil, evil House Sparrow, who’s preferred seed mix is the blood of the innocent.

The above feeder is a Seed Saver Domed Feeder, and the picture was taken with a Wingscapes Birdcam. Both items are available at the Birdchick’s OpenSky Store, and 20% of the profits are donated to the ABA’s kids programs.

As an added bonus, if you enter the coupon code Sharon1009, you’ll get an additional 10% off your OpenSky order.

Mixed in with the robins are hoards of waxwings.

Let this is a quick reminder that this Saturday, October 31, 2009 is the last day for my Swarovski Digiscoping Contest.  If you have ever digiscoped (used a camera up against a spotting scope) you need to enter.  One reason is that you could win some really cool prizes like a Swarovski EL binocular and two if you win you are automatically entered for the overall Digiscoper of the Year grand prize which in the past has been a fun birding trip to digiscope birds.

Keep in mind, you have several other chances of winning.  Bird Watcher’s Digest are also hosting mini contests like I am–think of how your chances have just increased to win a great pair of Swarovski binoculars by entering both of our contests.  And based on the number of entries I’ve seen so far…you’re chances of winning are really, really good.  So, scan your drives, get your best digiscoped images and enter them in.

DO NOT SEND THEM TO ME!  Follow this link and submit your entries while there is still time.  This is a great contest and the past few years, the Digiscoper of the Year winners have been from overseas.  Let’s show them how it’s done in the US!

Please send your favorite hummingbird memory to Annika at asmall@bowtieinc.com, no later than Nov. 16, 2009. The best memories will be published in the upcoming Hummingbirds issue of the Popular Birding Series, which will be on newsstands in early spring. Please include your full name and address in your e-mail.