July 23, 2014 at 2:10 p.m.
The case of the trapping bird feeder (05/21/08)
Back in the Saddle
By By JACK RONALD-
Maybe I should be shopping for a new bird feeder. One of ours has apparently become an attractive nuisance for our backyard birds.
There are four feeders in the yard most of the time. A thistle tube for the finches, a long feeder with a larger tube for sunflower seeds, and two that are pretty much squirrel-proof.
Combined, they attract plenty of activity. Typically this time of year, we'll see not only the usual robins, cardinals, blue jays, mourning doves, and sparrows but wrens and kinglets and thrushes. For awhile this month, our backyard was home to a ruffous-sided towhee that was apparently migrating through the region.
On Mother's Day, while we ate lunch at the kitchen table, we watched as our feathered friends lunched at the various feeders.
One particular feeder has already made an appearance in this column. It's one we bought years ago at the Hayes Arboretum in Richmond. It has a squirrel baffle that works, and it's possible to put two different types of birdseed in it because it has two chambers, one on top of the other.
This is the feeder that, last year, a sparrow got his head stuck in. It took several pokes with a stick to get the bird unstuck. On Mother's Day, the feeder claimed another victim.
Just as one of us said something like, "I hope that chickadee doesn't get stuck," the bird not only put its head way too far into the feeder but suddenly tumbled inside completely.
"I don't believe it," I muttered. "I do not believe it."
Hungry for the black sunflower seeds in the lower chamber and ignoring the more routine mix in the upper chamber, the chickadee had now imprisoned itself amid the seeds.
The lower chamber now had more bird than seeds, and the chickadee was panicking.
Clearly there was no way it was going to get out on its own.
"Let me see what I can do," I said, leaving my soup behind and putting on a windbreaker.
The bird continued to flutter wildly, banging its wings and running the risk of injury. It had squeezed through the feeding hole but wasn't smart enough to squeeze its way out again.
I lifted the feeder off the pole and stared at it. If I simply opened up the hole between the two chambers, the bird would be killed by the rapid avalanche of seed from the upper chamber.
Connie produced a plastic bucket from her garden bench, and I poured the contents of the upper chamber into it, with the chickadee freaking out the entire time. Then it was safe to open up the plug between the two chambers, but still the darned thing couldn't find the exit. I tilted the thing this way and that to coax the bird through. There was no way to reach it to give it a poke in the right direction.
Finally, with just the right shake, enough of the chickadee tumbled into position to figure out how to escape. It flew off without so much as a thank-you.
And I went back to my lunch, wondering if a new bird feeder wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.
I'm sure the chickadee would agree with me.
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There are four feeders in the yard most of the time. A thistle tube for the finches, a long feeder with a larger tube for sunflower seeds, and two that are pretty much squirrel-proof.
Combined, they attract plenty of activity. Typically this time of year, we'll see not only the usual robins, cardinals, blue jays, mourning doves, and sparrows but wrens and kinglets and thrushes. For awhile this month, our backyard was home to a ruffous-sided towhee that was apparently migrating through the region.
On Mother's Day, while we ate lunch at the kitchen table, we watched as our feathered friends lunched at the various feeders.
One particular feeder has already made an appearance in this column. It's one we bought years ago at the Hayes Arboretum in Richmond. It has a squirrel baffle that works, and it's possible to put two different types of birdseed in it because it has two chambers, one on top of the other.
This is the feeder that, last year, a sparrow got his head stuck in. It took several pokes with a stick to get the bird unstuck. On Mother's Day, the feeder claimed another victim.
Just as one of us said something like, "I hope that chickadee doesn't get stuck," the bird not only put its head way too far into the feeder but suddenly tumbled inside completely.
"I don't believe it," I muttered. "I do not believe it."
Hungry for the black sunflower seeds in the lower chamber and ignoring the more routine mix in the upper chamber, the chickadee had now imprisoned itself amid the seeds.
The lower chamber now had more bird than seeds, and the chickadee was panicking.
Clearly there was no way it was going to get out on its own.
"Let me see what I can do," I said, leaving my soup behind and putting on a windbreaker.
The bird continued to flutter wildly, banging its wings and running the risk of injury. It had squeezed through the feeding hole but wasn't smart enough to squeeze its way out again.
I lifted the feeder off the pole and stared at it. If I simply opened up the hole between the two chambers, the bird would be killed by the rapid avalanche of seed from the upper chamber.
Connie produced a plastic bucket from her garden bench, and I poured the contents of the upper chamber into it, with the chickadee freaking out the entire time. Then it was safe to open up the plug between the two chambers, but still the darned thing couldn't find the exit. I tilted the thing this way and that to coax the bird through. There was no way to reach it to give it a poke in the right direction.
Finally, with just the right shake, enough of the chickadee tumbled into position to figure out how to escape. It flew off without so much as a thank-you.
And I went back to my lunch, wondering if a new bird feeder wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.
I'm sure the chickadee would agree with me.
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