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Modern Birdwatching

by Jeff Soesbe

I used to like birdwatching, especially hummingbirds, until the feeder on my apartment balcony started getting one-star reviews on CHURP.

CHURP
By Birds. For Birds.
/c/feeders/USA/CA_NORTH/BAYAREA/SANBRUNO
Location: 750 Glenview Drive, #206. Balcony.
Feeder Count: One.
Size: Small.
Refill Frequency: Irregular.
Average Rating: 1.5

Comments
Hummy292: Booooring. Weak syrup. Total fly-by.
UWishUCouldFlyLikeMe: If I wanted bland fluoridated water reeking of a plastic tub, I’d go back to the city park.
BeTheBlur: Can a feeder be worse than awful? YESITCAN!!!

“Those birds are so wrong!” I declared one Friday night, after two bottles of Black Butte Porter. “My feeder has been unjustly attacked. Hummingbirds don’t come by anymore. My BirdTrack ranking is plummeting.”

“Birds have smarts, and a website,” Mister Friskers, my Seal Point Siamese, said, looking out the window from his cat tree. “They’re entitled to their opinions.”

“I liked birdwatching better before birds had opinions. Or smarts. And how did *those* birds get smart anyway?”

“Genetic engineering of pets for brains and voice. Just like me, buddy.”

“But those are wild birds!”

“Pet birds escaped and mated with wild birds. It happens.”

“You don’t escape.”

“I like the apartment.” Friskers licked his paws. “Food, water, companionship. Life is good here.”

“Exactly,” I fumed. “Those birds have it good, and they need to be told that.”

I typed furiously.

750Glenview206: Feeder OWNER here. I put a LOT of EFFORT into mixing sugar and water and FILLING my feeder. THAT FACT means you birds should be GRATEFUL. Just FLY AROUND, LOOK PRETTY, and let me count you. That’s ALL YOU HAVE TO DO. How about some GRATITUDE?!?!?!?

Friskers had moved from the cat tree to the desk and watched me type.

“I would not recommend posting that,” he said.

“I have to defend myself.”

I hit POST and waited for their apologies.

But the birds decided they weren’t going to apologize, or show gratitude.

Instead they got all offended and nasty.

LongestBeak: ‘My pitiful efforts should be enough for you simple birds.’ LOL. Humans suck.
ZippyTheZip: Typical ground-walking, monochrome, oversized, hairless, egotistical, wannabe ape.
FlashSoPretty: & Y R HUMANZ ALLOWD ON CHURP?!?!?!

“I don’t have to put up with this attitude!” I said. “Who is the dominant species here?”

“I really think you should stop right now,” Friskers said.

I glared at him. “You, Friskers, don’t know anything.”

“And what is *that* supposed to mean?”

“You,” I jabbed my finger in his direction. “Are the cat. Just. The. Cat.”

Friskers’s long black tail flicked back and forth several times as he looked at me through narrowed eyes. “Fine, my friend.” He walked across the desk, knocking my wallet, keys, and papers to the floor, and jumped back onto his cat tree. “Suit yourself.”

I hammered out my reply.

750Glenview206: You annoying chirping chattering DOPES don’t LIKE my bird feeder? THEN DON’T COME! You’re a bunch of TINY-HEADED BIRD BRAINS!
Hummy292: That’s low, even for a human.
BeTheBlur: What a jerk! We should do something.
BandOfBirdsCA: Fellow birds. The Bird Coalition has been notified. It. Is. On.

---

Saturday morning, I came back from the gym to a gigantic bird protest. My balcony was filled with flocks and bevys of all types of birds, tweeting and screeching about “speciesism” and “feather hater”.

So I logged every one of them on BirdTrack.

Hummingbirds
Allen’s: 3
Black-chin: 2
Costa’s: 1
Anna’s: 1
White Albino: 1 (Very Rare – bonus points!)
Jays
Steller’s: 4
Scrub: 5
Various
Ring-Billed gull
Bushtits: a cloud
Red-winged blackbird
American crows: 4
Mourning doves: 2
Rock pigeons: 8

It was my best bird-watching day ever! I vaulted to number eleven on BirdTrack in the San Bruno Region.

Then the pigeons tore down my feeder, the crows set it on fire, and all the birds soared away. I spent an entire hot afternoon scraping smoldering plastic, along with mounds of bird poop, off my balcony, while Friskers watched me from inside the sliding glass door.

During the next few days, I didn’t see a single bird anywhere near my apartment. My BirdTrack ranking plummeted again. Most of my followers left. I was despondent.

---

“I think I made a mistake,” I scowled after a full week of absolutely no birds at all.

“Oh you do, do you?” Cat sarcasm dripped from Mister Friskers’s low growl.

“I need to teach those birds a lesson. They want sugar, they’re going to get sugar.”

“Are you certain this is the approach you want to take?”

“Stay out of it. I’m going to the store.”

“Get more catnip!” Friskers meowed as I hurried out the door.

I bought seven trashy plastic feeders. I filled them with a mix of cheap maple syrup, processed sugar, and flat soda with high fructose corn syrup. I hung them all over my balcony. As an added enticement, I put up blinking holiday lights and used markers to create signs saying “SUGAR! SUGAR! SUGAR!”

My new mega-sweet, mega-feeder setup finished, I posted on CHURP.

750Glenview206: My apologies if some sensitive birds were offended. I offer amends. All the sugar you want, free for the taking.
LongestBeak: I don’t trust this one.
BeTheBlur: Sensitive birds? Human, please.
BuffAndBeautiful: Sugar? Lots of sugar?

The next day, huge numbers of hummingbirds swarmed. They stabbed and sparred with each other as they fought over the sugar-laden feeders. It was an astounding day of hummingbird watching. I counted well over a hundred – Anna’s, Black-chin, Costa’s, and many more. By the end of the day I was number one with a double green up arrow in the hummingbird category on BirdTrack and had dozens of new followers.

I celebrated that night with an entire indica pot gummy and passed out on the couch while streaming multiple episodes of Birding Superstars, dreaming of my future birdwatching fame.

---

At five thirty the next morning, I was awakened by an insistent rapping. Bleary-eyed, mouth feeling like cotton, I stumbled to the balcony door.

A dozen large Anna’s hummingbirds were taking turns assaulting the glass. Their feathers bent over muscular wings, and their top crowns were slicked down like backwards red baseball caps.

The squeak of the sliding glass door made the pounding in my head even worse.

“What the hell is going on out here?” I growled.

“Yo, bro,” the biggest hummingbird grunted. “You’re out of syrup.”

“So what?”

It zipped directly at my face. I reeled backwards.

“Dude. We have multi-branch dash sprints scheduled for sunrise. We need to sugar up now.”

“Sucks for you!” I slammed the door and stumbled into the bedroom, collapsing on the bed.

The hummingbirds kept at the glass, tapping out an incessant drilling rhythm, drowning out my white noise generator.

“Friskers,” I moaned.

He leapt up on the bed. “Why yes, I am awake, thanks for asking. What do you want?”

“Go stop those birds.”

“This seems like your problem.”

“Do you want to keep getting catnip? Do you want to keep getting those treats you love, the ones with salmon?”

“Are you blackmailing me?”

“Take care of the birds, or I’ll stop buying treats. I want to go to sleep.”

His ears twitched. “Fine. I’ll talk to them. I’m sure they’ll listen to reason.”

The sliding door squeaked. Seconds later, an eruption of sound came from the balcony, a frenzy of growling, hissing, sharp chirps, whistles, and yowling. It ended with what I swore was the sound of hummingbirds laughing.

The sliding door closed with a bang.

Mister Friskers limped, slowly, back into the bedroom.

“Friskers, you okay?”

“Those birds are animals!” Picking up his catnip mouse from his toy basket, he gingerly went into the closet and closed the door.

“Frisk? What happened?”

“Leave. Me. Alone.”

Those damn birds had gone too far. It was time to bring in a professional.

---

Sophia Buteo, a lawyer with the avian firm Shrike and Associates, was a real hawk. A red-tailed hawk, specifically. She was all pointed sharpness, from her carefully manicured and painted talons, to the bright pink lipstick on the tip of her beak, to the clean edges of her wing feathers.

She paced back and forth on a perch in her corner office while commanding the room.

“Those deadbeat, freeloader, troublemaking birds need to pay for what they’ve done to you and your cat.”

“That’s right,” I said sternly. “They need to pay.”

“You are a victim of an organized hummingbird mob.”

“Well, actually,” I pointed out. “A mob is a group of emus, though it can be used for crows. The correct term for a group of hummingbirds is a charm.”

Sophia stopped pacing. Her head pivoted slowly, until her dark, piercing eyes looked directly at me with menace.

“Are you humansplaining birds? To me?”

My mouth got very dry. I found an interesting piece of rug near my feet to stare at. “Uh … no?”

“Good.” Sophia returned to her pacing. “We are going to descend on them like a supersonic attack squadron. They won’t know what hit them until it’s too late and there’s nothing left but an explosion of feathers.”

“You’re going to kill them?”

She raised her wing. “I’m speaking metaphorically, of course.”

“Um, of course”.

I became concerned that the law firm of Shrike and Associates had more in mind than just legal action.

“First, we’re going to slap them with a cease and desist order so they don’t harass you any more. Those do-gooders at the Bird Coalition will certainly get involved, but then-”

“Cease and desist? You mean the birds won’t come around?”

“They attacked you! You don’t want them around!”

“But I do. I like to look at the birds.”

Sophia spoke slowly, like I was a child. “You like to look at birds?”

“Yes, I’m a birdwatcher.”

“Oh … one of those.” She stabbed at an intercom on her desk. “Bartholomew, could you come in here please?”

The door to her office opened.

A peacock walked in.

“What’s up, boss?” the peacock said.

“Bartholomew, this human says he likes to look at birds.”

“Really?” Bartholomew smiled as he spread his tail feathers open wide in a brilliant display of shimmering, translucent, blue and green. I was hypnotized by his astounding beauty.

“What you want,” Sophia’s voice came to me as if from a faraway dream. “Is to engage the firm of Shrike and Associates to rid you of these bird nuisances.”

“I want to engage Shrike and Associates,” I repeated, transfixed.

“Our payment fees are standard: squirrels or other small tree animals. Or we can take your cat. How big is your cat?”
My cat.

I flashed back to the first day I saw him, at the adoption agency. He rubbed against my leg, looked up at me with big eyes, and said “Friend?”

Mister Friskers.

My best friend.

I snapped out of the trance.

“You can’t take my cat.”

Bartholomew waggled his feathers again. I slammed my eyes shut and jumped out of the chair. I stumbled in the direction of the door and pawed around until I found the handle and yanked the door open.

“You’re going to regret leaving,” Sophia’s voice echoed behind me as I hurried to the elevator. “Those birds are going to fly all over you, and then you’ll be covered in-”

The closing of the elevator door cut her off.

What was I doing, I thought. Driven by pride and loss of social media status, I put my best friend at risk.

What had I become?

I had become a monster.

A human monster.

---

Back home, I sat on the floor of my bedroom. I eased the closet door open a few inches.

“Mister Friskers, I am so sorry.”

“I’m not talking to you.”

I slid a brand new catnip lizard toy halfway into the closet.

“Frisk, you were right. I was wrong. I’ve made mistakes. You got hurt. How can I make it up to you?”

Friskers’s nose appeared and he took the lizard all the way into the closet.

“It’s going to take more than this. A lot more.”

“Catnip. Salmon treats. Anything.”

“Everything. And a ton of it.”

“It’s a deal.” I slumped back to lie on the floor. The ceiling was a large expanse of despair. “Do you think it’s too late for me and the birds?”

“You’re asking me? That’s up to the birds.”

“I can win them back. I need to do better. I need to be better.” Resolved, I jumped to my feet. “I’m going shopping.”

“Don’t forget the salmon treats.”

---

I bought the most expensive glass feeders I could find. I used neon paint and glitter to decorate them with flowers and rainbows. I followed the top rated nectar recipe exactly, using organic sugar, filtered spring water, and dabs of floral honey.

I read discussions on CHURP. Lots of bird discussions.

I realized I had been going about this all wrong. Racking up BirdTrack points, aiming for followers on birdwatching social channels – that exploited the birds. It was wrong.

I needed to live in harmony with the birds.

I deleted my BirdTrack account.

Before quitting CHURP, I made one last post and hoped for the best.

750Glenview206: Dear birds. I was a jerk. I was an ass. I was a human monster. You’re not a game. You’re not for my social media driven consumption. You’re fellow creatures, and you deserve my respect. Can we try again?
UWishUCouldFlyLikeMe: I don’t know about this.
BeTheBlur: That jerk doesn’t deserve a second chance.
ZippyTheZip: I did a fly-by. The feeders do look nice.
Hummy292: Could be worth a tongue dip or two.
BandOfBirdsCA: You know what might sweeten the deal? Black oil sunflower seeds. For the rest of us birds.
FlashSoPretty: TONS OF THOSE.
LongestBeak: Yeah, those are the boss!
750Glenview206: It’s a deal.

It was a slow process. I paid close attention to the feeders, made sure the nectar was fresh, kept the seed bin full. I loaded one hummingbird feeder with a little extra honey, for birds wanting a workout boost.

Finally, all the birds came back.

After work, I’d sit on the patio with Friskers at my side and read a book. The birds came by, dabbed at the feeders. I learned all their names, and always said hello. I told the birds they were amazing, that I enjoyed their songs and their incredible aerial abilities. All true. And all I needed.

I liked birdwatching again.

Especially the hummingbirds.

---

Host Commentary

And that was “Modern Birdwatching” by Jeff Soesby, who’s attended the live reading and got to do a Q&A afterwards. I really hope Worldcon can find that data.

As for me, I feel like this story returns us to the beginning where they said, “on the internet no one knows youre a dog.” Now they definitely know. And there are pretty much jerks in every group of the animal kingdom. Which, if you’ve ever watched a bird feeder, is not a surprise.

Also, the message is listen to your pets, they might have more common sense than you do.

Congrats to all the Hugo winners! I came down with Covid and had to go home early so I wouldn’t expose anyone—I wasn’t seeking the legacy of passing a virus to a gathering of the best and brightest SciFi had to offer (of those attending of course). Hope to see folks next year in Montreal.

Escape Pod is 100% audience supported, and we count on your donations to keep the lights on and the servers humming. Head to https://escapeartists.net/support-ea/ to see all the available donation and subscription options, including Patreon, PayPal, Ko-Fi, and Twitch.

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That was our show for this week. Our quote comes from Wil Wheaton (who I also failed to meet at Worldcon because I was sick), and Wil says, “Don’t be a dick.”

Thanks for listening. We will see you next week with more free science fiction. Stay safe, stay kind, and have fun.