Name That Bird

My grandmother liked birds. She had a bird feeder that was nothing more than a thin scrap of board nailed onto the top of a  fence post. She put food scraps there for her birds. I suspect she might have not cleaned her plate so that she would have something left for the birds. 

She did not like cats because they scared her birds away. I suppose the cats were hungry, too, and not just for food scraps. 

Sometimes, in the early dark of morning, I hear a bird call. I don’t know anything about the calls of birds, and when I try to describe the call to Sugar, he doesn’t know either. 

So one morning at dark-thirty, I recorded a bird call. And then a second bird called, and I recorded that, too. 

Try to ignore the sounds of cats knocking things off the nightstand and scratching. We already know how to identify those sounds in the dark. At least no one coughed up a hairball. 

I asked for help from my online friends. My cousin, a scientist birder, said that both were cardinals. 

Cardinals, really? How embarrassing that I don’t even know the call of this most basic of birds. Sugar had asked me what the bird making the call looked like, but I couldn’t say. It was dark out. 

Another friend got her husband to listen to the audio, which amused me. People are listening to my little cardinal friends online. Her husband said that my bird call was slower than most, and that birds can have regional calls. 

Well, of course it is slower. This is the sLowcountry.   



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