Free as a Bird

I’m gonna say this right up front: I’m sick and tired of having to out-shout everyone first thing in the morning. I start before sunrise, easily besting the worm-eaters in their muted, nearly-orange vests, but I cannot match the perky-tailed idiots, the loud-mouthed wrens. I don’t know who they think they are to sing so loudly, so drab and chubby compared to my scarlet magnificence.

I’d rather not start work so early, but shout I must because . . . well I don’t know why.

After I’m done making myself heard I’m ravenous, and unless one of those large, featherless birds have forgotten to stash their seeds, leaving a pile out in the open for all to steal, I must hunt, pecking through dry leaves and old flower heads for anything with protein and fat.

It takes a lot of energy to defend my newly-acquired domain from other red-crested males. I fly at them in fury. Some of them don’t even try to get away, and they are so hard that it hurts my beak when I smash into them. There’s a rumor about us being fooled by our own reflection, that what clearly is another cardinal is not even a real bird, but I don’t believe in conspiracy theories.

When I have time to contemplate the mysteries of life, I wonder about the featherless birds. Why do they sit in their wood and glass cages most of the time? Why do they cage themselves at all? Not for me to know, though, and I am very happy about their unattended food because it makes my job so much easier, giving me more time to sing the most beautiful song of everyone, a song that will surely bring me the most deserving lady cardinal so we can make a family.

Yes, it takes plenty of calories to accomplish everything that must be done. And there’s no sitting still for any of us non-predators. No, we must twitch and fiddle, constantly swiveling our heads so that eagles and hawks think we are on to them. No napping, no sir. You nap; you die. Or another bad bird moves in on your territory.

I’m not gonna lie, although I quite like the notion of coupling with a supple babe—I can practically smell her warm feathers—I don’t look forward to the work that lies ahead.

Nest building, for one, is a huge undertaking. Then, after she of the yeasty smell produces eggs, I’ll be foraging for two until they hatch. Fetching food and bringing it back to my mauve beauty.

And, after those little darlings hatch, she and I will be foraging for them, too. And not just seeds. We have to go all carnivore, finding insects and grubs to help them grow their tiny selves. Carrying off their poop sacks. Trying not to get eaten or let anything eat them.

It’s all too much, come to think of it. Whoever said “Free as a Bird” was obviously not avian. It’s all exhausting! Oh how I wish I could sleep in for once!