He’s in the
woodpecker section of my Sibley field guide. I know him. And I know he’s a
“him” by the red on his cheek; male birds get to wear the adornments and
finery. In fact, I’ve known his kin for years and years.
But never have I
seen an injured one. He is though, and my dog insistently follows him with her
nose as I clean up after her in the yard: human following dog following bird.
But I call her away because his loud retort sounds unkind or afraid, and her
nearly fifty pounds is no match for his six ounces of featheriness.
I urge my dog
away from could-be prey and secure her in the house; this releases him to hop
around the yard, apparently unable to fly but with no visible injury. He
scurries. He hides. I scurry myself - to get my camera for the most phenomenal
photo; I am not sure he really likes having his picture taken, though. I forgot
to ask first.
Though realizing
that my anthropomorphized compassion and ego are animating me, I discover what
flickers eat – ants, gathered from the folds of the earth. I consider gathering ants for this guy, wondering how many he’d need to feel sated. I
laugh at myself and know that he is mobile, even if not able to fly…he can
certainly forage for himself.
Later, my
concern gets the better of me when I return to the yard and see him panting,
huddled, in the grass. Inside, I scavenge for shallow plastic containers
and find that the plastic ice cream pint lid is just about right for water; I
have already learned that seeds and fruits are other foods the flicker might
eat so I chop up a beautiful strawberry into flicker-sized bites and pour a few
sunflower seeds to the side – place them on another plastic lid and transport
them to within a few yards of Flicker.
Spying with
binoculars through the window, I see he is ignoring my offering and hopping in
some other direction, intent on the ants-project, I guess. After my final
appointment of the day, I wander back outside and Flicker is nowhere in sight,
not even hiding in the few areas he’d huddled earlier. I wishfully think that
he has been restored to flight wellness and gone off to wherever his
intentional burrow is. And then I check the food dishes: strawberry bits askew,
seeds – every last single one – gone! I see a robin across the yard who is,
oddly, interested in me; perhaps she is responsible and I ask her: Did you eat those seeds, Robin? (Just
for the record: no response.)
* * *
I gathered facts
in Sibley’s tome and online, prepared some food, watched with binoculars,
downloaded his image: these were the best seventy-five minutes of my day.
Though it distracted me from a few “urgent” work deadlines, somehow abiding
with Flicker felt more important.
An opportunity. A gift. A dance. A sigh.
All blog images created & photographed by Jennifer J. Wilhoit unless otherwise noted. Please circulate images with photo credit: "©2016 JenniferJWilhoit/TEALarbor stories. AllRightsReserved."
