I talk to animals, and they often talk back.
Before you start to wonder if it’s time to take away my car keys, consider this. Francis of Assisi famously talked to animals, and now he’s a saint.
Anthropomorphism is the attribution of human characteristics to animals. It’s something that neither a good naturalist nor a good columnist should do. Naturally, I do it.
The birds make me do it, and so do the squirrels. But chipmunks are the best conversationalists. They’re typically happy to hang out and chatter together. Gray squirrels seem to fear me and flee, for no good reason. Red squirrels scorn me. I’m used to it.
I’ve had long discussions with the eastern phoebes nesting above my garage door. It’s been quite a summer. They arrived right on schedule in May and constructed a new nest next to last year’s. For unknown reasons, this attempt failed almost immediately.
They tried again a couple days later, this time successfully. That’s when our conversations began.
While the female is on the nest, both parents tend to be very quiet. The male sounds off to proclaim his territorial boundaries first thing in the morning, but otherwise he avoids drawing attention to the nest.
For several weeks, I could not use my garage door. When I passed nearby, I apologized for disturbing her. She said nothing in reply. She remained motionless, trying to be invisible.
Then the eggs hatched.
Once phoebes have nestlings, all heck breaks loose. The parents come and go constantly, bringing food as fast as they can, always at the risk of exposing the chicks to unfriendly eyes. Apparently, that includes my eyes.
For two weeks, they absolutely hated me. They were so watchful, they would start scolding when they heard the front door open. The little twerps didn’t even wait to see me before they started complaining.
At first, I apologized and tried to avoid them. After a while, I merely rushed to my car in embarrassed silence. Toward the end, I bickered back, reminding them that they were on my garage, and I had a right to use my own yard.
One day, the chaos stopped abruptly. When they failed to scold me, I knew immediately that the chicks had left the nest.
Occasionally, I would see one of “my” phoebes on my way out to get the newspaper. I wished them good morning. They wished me good riddance.
Four days later, the male started calling incessantly at dawn.
Darn it. They’re starting another brood. Once again, I am barred from my garage.
If this were the only time I talked with animals, you might not question my sanity. Alas, I also talk to other birds. I apologize to the chickadees, nuthatches and woodpeckers when I am late filling the feeders.
Chipping sparrows are currently leading their fledglings around my front lawn. The parents don’t seem to object to my presence, and we greet each other cordially.
That’s not true of other sparrows. Birds nesting high in trees have little fear of humans, but those nesting on or near the ground do, including sparrows.
It’s easy to tell when you approach the nestlings of a song sparrow. He’ll pop right to the top of a bush and chirp his distrust in your face. White-throated sparrows are worse. Both parents scold until you’re at a safe distance. Dark-eyed juncos leave no doubt. They make a bill-snapping sound when you approach their nest. The more they snap, the closer you are. Savannah sparrows also snap. Lincoln’s sparrows are secretive, but oh boy — if you’re near their nest, they’ll scold with a double-snap note that intensifies as you approach.
Nelson’s, vesper, and fox sparrows are uncommon in Maine, but I’ve been scolded by all three.
Usually, you don’t know you’re near their chicks until they tell you.
Common yellowthroats nest low. Of all the warblers, they are the most likely to show a quick temper to any human who accidentally wanders near.
I never mean to crowd birds. I know there are now a billion fewer birds on earth than when I was a youngster — diminished by habitat loss, collisions with manmade structures and outdoor cats.
In every case, I apologize out loud for my own intrusion.
To qualify for canonization, I presume St. Francis of Assisi performed at least one miracle besides talking with animals. Since I also talk with animals, has there been another miracle sufficient to be declared St. Bob?
My wife puts up with her animal-talking husband. Now that’s a miracle.
