For the Birds

As I was sitting down to breakfast this morning, a loud ruckus erupted outside my window. I recognized the desperate cries of a baby bird, and the angry squawking of Scrub Jays. I pulled back the curtains to check out the unfolding drama.

Hopping near the street, a pair of scrub jays was mobbing a crow, who was not giving any ground. Then I saw the sad little heap of downy gray feathers, tinged with blue, lying under the oleanders.

My breakfast could wait.

I knew these jays had nested nearby, though I never puzzled out the spot. They have been diligently scolding my (indoor-only) cat for a couple of weeks. Like the crow, they are smart; they have spied the cat in various rooms and harassed her through windows on all sides of the house.

Also like the crow, they are aggressive and will raid the nests of other birds. What goes around, comes around?

I stepped outside for a closer look. The crow winged it up to a higher perch, and the jays divided their attention: one kept after the crow, the other landed a few feet from my head and squawked incessantly.

First rule for observing wildlife: If you change the behavior of the animal, you are too close. Yes, but ... It is one thing for the crow to shadow me in the garden, swooping down to gobble the sowbugs and earwigs I unearth; it is another thing entirely to tear a juvenile bird apart. Even if it is a jay.

I turned toward the garage; I would need a shovel. Suddenly, the air exploded with the sound of wings beating into chaotic flight. I looked back to the spot where the (evidently, stunned) bird had lain, and smiled.

I returned to my breakfast. The crow, driven off by the jays, left hungry.