Human-watching

“Bird-watching soars amid COVID-19 as Americans head outdoors”

—AP

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Good news, fellow birds! There’s never been a better time to get a look at your neighborhood’s largest mammals. Even though some of them are flocking back to “hybrid school,” whatever that is, they’re still more visible this year than usual, in habitats including parks, porches, stoops, fire escapes, and sidewalks outside Trader Joe’s. 

 

Like most humans that have recently abandoned preening, the Yellow-pitted Grosstee is distinguished by sweat-stained upper plumage and an odor that’ll make your talons curl. Call: “Why bother?”

 

The Woodypecker used to display breeding behavior once or twice a week. Now that it’s nesting more, though, it solicits relations 24/7—either with an exhausted mate or, if need be, alone. Call: “Whatcha up to, hon?”

 

Eerie and keening, the cry of the Great Regret can be heard in all regions and climates: “I shoulda invested in zoooom.”

 

The Eastern Phoeble has grown less and less robust. Once able to gather sustenance on its own, it now remains perched while others bring it everything. Call: “Grubhub’s late, goddammit!” (Disappointingly, Grubhub never seems to deliver actual grubs.)

 

The Red-eyed Bleario—its biorhythms thrown off by late-night screen binges—is seldom spotted before 2pm. Call: “Whatsnoo on hooloo?

 

Many human families have acquired a House Spare, uncomfortably roosting in its childhood nest after getting kicked out of a larger, more populous, and vastly more fun nest in another state. Call: “I’ve gotta go back next semester.”

 

Red-faced from anger and skin bumps, the Scarlet Teenager can spend hours begging older humans to let it resume its migrations to Starbucks. In a move that earns the frank respect of owls, it can roll its eyes a full 360 degrees. Call: none. (This breed texts exclusively.)

 

The Gray-tufted Twit alternates between two distress cries: “I reeeelly need some hiiighlights” and (in the presence of a young grosstee or scarlet teenager) “No facetiming Grandma in that outfit!”

 

The Oreo, aka the Common Snackle, survives almost exclusively on crunchy circles, supplemented by crunchy triangles. Members of this subspecies are bigger than they were a few months ago, and slower to shoo you away if you swoop in for a crumb. Call: “We’re outta doreeetooos!”

 

The House Wrench is a nimble tool user whose constant “projects” this year put it nearly on a par with the bowerbird. Call: “Hey Siri, call Home Depot.”

 

The Northern Peewee is much smaller than other humans, but very fast-growing. Its raucous calls—the envy of blue jays—seem to irritate larger humans more than they used to, and become increasingly complex with age.  Among them: “Nooooo!” “I wanna!” and “I froo it inda potteee!” Caution: If you hear it chirp “Birdeeeee!” while making grabbing motions with its upper feet, fly to safety immediately.

 

Less adapted to the current climate than many, the Bald Eager approaches friends and tries to enfold them in its wrinkly wings. The alarm this provokes never stops it from trying again. Call: “So great ta seeya!”

 

The two breeds of Screechfoul—masked and unmasked—are notable for squawking in public at members of the other breed. Call: variable, but often beginning with “Hey, asshole!”

 

The Barefooted Boozy subsists mainly on liquid, which it’s begun pouring into larger and larger vessels. (Warning: no matter how much this liquid resembles one, it is not a refreshing birdbath.) Call: “Bllrrrrmmmmssssnrffff.”

 

The Northern Card, aka the Mockingturd, spends its days pecking out puns, forced metaphors, and other desperate attempts to make light of the End Times. Call (repeated hourly): “Pleeeeez go viral.”

 

The Orange-crested Nutjob is most visible on southern golf courses, and occasionally in the nation’s capital. Frequent companions include the Common Raving, the Red-capped Loon, and the Gilded Flucker. Call: a never-ending tweet.