The Death of the Luke Bird

We have three bird feeders hanging by our kitchen window.  One was a present, and the others were handmade by Luke and Ben.  Every spring, we love seeing the birds snack away.  They come at regular intervals that generally line up with our mealtimes.

There are several birds that come back yearly.  We have pigeons that tried nesting inside our garage, two years ago.  I had to repeatedly shoo them off.  Luke named the pigeon Bernice.  This year, Bernice and her mate came back with two other pigeons.  They are all named Bernice.

We had chimney swifts last year, and I’m pretty sure I heard them in our chimney today.

Among other repeat birds, we have this one bird that has been flying into our window.  He does it again and again.  It is really awful.  He looks like some type of sparrow.  He has a grey and white belly, reddish-brown head and a light-brown back.  The Crazy Bird, as we’ve dubbed him, likes to fly directly into the window, cling onto the window frame, hop onto the bird feeder, and then swoop down to repeat the idiocy.

I feel terrible about it.  I’ve hung ribbons and taped paper to the window but he still crashes hopelessly into the glass.  Every time he thumps to the deck, I check the window to make sure that he is not dead.  When I’m not worried about him dying, I get stressed thinking that he is trying to communicate with me.  Dink, dink, dink.  Maybe he’s telling me that the bird feeders are empty.  Dink, dink, dink.  What does he see that he wants?

Today, some birds got into a fight.  Later on, I noticed a little non-moving brown lump on our deck.

Of course it was raining outside. Dismal conditions for a dismal event.

I called the boys over and we discussed the poor little creature.  I was a bit distraught about causing the death of a bird – it must’ve died in the fight over the birdseed which we provided.

Luke asked if it was our Crazy Bird and I replied that I was unsure, but leaning towards no.  It was too dark-colored.  He wanted to know the name of the bird.  Again, I declared myself ignorant on the matter, but said that perhaps it was “Fred”.

He corrected me and said that the bird’s name was Luke.  The boys then jabbered on about Luke dying.  As if I didn’t feel bad enough already.

Luke started calling him the “Luke Bird”, to differentiate between the Luke boy, I suppose.  It made me feel a little better.

Zach came home and scooped up the bird.  Again, very sad.

Even worse, the Crazy Bird didn’t come back at dinnertime.  Hopefully I am right, and he is not actually the former Luke Bird.

We’re almost out of birdseed, and it’s just as well.  I’m ready to take the viewing drama out of mealtimes.