The Joy of Rupert’s Visits

The next morning was not much different. Almost at the same time, on the same spot, it appeared again, singing its heart out. This show went on for a few days, giving the listener the opportunity of discovering something new about the visitor every day.

It had become clear, by his singing, that the bird was a male testing his spring romantic skills. He was little and of an undefined colour. At times, his plumage seemed grey and at others, light brown with almost caramel hues closer to his long tail. As if aware of his traits, he moved around, always on guard, almost trying to confuse the observer with the way in which his plumage reflected the light. When standing on the ground, he became nearly invisible, a good way to camouflage himself from potential predators while hunting for nutritious bugs.

The repeated appearances and performances revealed that when he sang, his neck stretched up, his wings stretched back, and his chest opened, showing a black spot, as if he was the proud owner of a medal. The only time that he did not hold his head up and chest out was during the intermittent visits to the feeder in a back corner of the garden. Then, he would bend down to pick up one seed at a time and  look around, making sure that there were no intruders nearby. After repeating this several times, he stretched up and emitted a triumphant melody that almost made the new flowers dance.

As the spring days became warmer and the sun stronger, the bird’s visits turned into an integral part of the morning coffee routine. Even from inside the house one could see him through the window, flying from spot to spot, catching bugs, finding forgotten seed on the ground, or visiting the corner feeder. Soon, however, he faced competition. First came the blue jays, then the black birds, and more often than not the red cardinal and his mate. Still, however, he tried to hold his ground and take his turn on the feeder, picking one seed at a time.

♋

The visits became so frequent that a clear personality became evident. Although tiny, the bird was definitely not a pushover. He was clearly capable of showing dominance over what had become his personal territory. To the observer, he was no longer just a regular bird. He needed a name.

The issue, however, was:  how do you name a bird that, except for his singing, had nothing else to make him stand out, not an imposing size, nor striking colours, nor an impressive wingspan. It took a while for a suitable name to come to mind.

One morning, while I watched him through the kitchen window, he flew from one of his usual spots to another, back and forth. Suddenly, he decided to get closer to the house, landing on an iron hook just inches away from a window. He stood there, looking like a miniature soldier claiming new territory. At times, he stood as tall as his small body allowed him and began to sing, his chest reverberating in a triumphant harmony.

It was right at that moment that a name came to mind. He was Rupert.