Three of my closest compatriots have gotten enthused about birding. Really enthused. Like, read-textbooks-buy-equipment-set-weekend-and-vacation-plans-by-it enthused. When people you love are really into something, there’s a spillover effect. And while I’m not a birder, hardly even “birder adjacent,” it’s been a pleasure to grow a bit more aware of our feathered friends.
One day last spring, I looked out my home office window and noticed a rather plain brown bird hopping along with twigs in its beak. Back and forth it went along the ground in front of my window, presumably building its nest. “I’m working and you’re working,” I thought. “But you have to commute.”
Walking along a wooded path in the Berkeley hills, I heard a loud chirping, then spotted a dark-eyed Junko sitting on a branch, singing its little heart out. Its tiny triangular beak opened and closed, opened and closed. “You look just like a cartoon version of a bird singing,” I thought.
I walked by a house and noticed a dove hanging out in the front yard. “Why are you just sitting on the ground like that?” I wondered. The next day, I passed by again and the dove was still there, this time flitting in and out of the bushes. “Oh, I see,” I thought. “You live here.”
Looking back over what I’ve written, I see that there’s a good amount of “direct address” to birds. Is there a birder word for that?