On my walk this morning I thought I saw a yellow-breasted chat, but the more I think about it, the less certain I am. Actually, at the time I had no idea what I was seeing except that it had a bright yellow breast and a black eye-line and it didn't hang around long enough to let me get a closer look. I was about a mile from home at the time so I spent that last mile chanting "yellow breast, black line, chip chip chip chip tweeeeeet," trying to keep the bird's appearance and call fresh in my mind until I could look in the bird book.
The problem with using a bird book to identify a bird that does not happen to be present at the time is that the many options available mess with my memory. By the time I've looked at all the yellow and black birds and rejected those that are clearly not right, I'm second-guessing myself: was it smaller than a robin or about the same size? Was the black bit more like a hood or a mask? Was the song shrill or warbly? Was it saying "toop-toop-toop" or "terp jedek" or "jerZIK"? I've never heard any bird produce a sound I would transcribe as "jerZIK." It's all "tweet" to me.
So it could be a yellow-breasted chat or it could be something else entirely, like some sort of oriole or even a meadowlark, but I won't know unless I can find it again and get it to sit still long enough to give me a clue. Next time I'll ask it to come home with me for a little visit over the bird book. You know, just a casual chat. What larks!
1 comment:
A bird comes every evening to the same branch of our plum tree. He or she sits there, showing off, making noises. I can't reproduce the noises or tell you what color he or she is, because whenever I think, "I should look up what kind of bird that is," I then think of something better yet to do--throw a ball for the dog, for example. Thus the bird is filed mentally under, "slightly annoying dinosaur, undefined" You're way ahead of me in the "chip, chip, tweet" department.
D.
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