I just came from the park where for a half an hour watched a bird build her nest. I knew it was a female by how organized she was. She’d choose her twigs the way I might a melon, with extreme expertise, then swoop back up to put them in place.
It’s a pity she can’t teach at the Learning Annex. I for one could use a few decorating tips.
Of course it’s mating season so everyone, except for me, is having sex outdoors. How nice squirrels and sparrows never run up a hotel bill. I saw a bird being accosted playing the old hard to get game. Even pigeons apparently like the chase.
I’m particularly fond of the ducks garnished around the running track. I counted four couples looking exactly alike doing various things.
The first male I saw was pacing by himself waiting for his sweetheart, no doubt, who may have been by the water’s edge tending to her toilette. When they’re at the height of their passion, the male sticks close. Nothing like sex to keep a man at home.
Then came two doing their morning fast-waddle, the man always behind the woman. It’s so British. She’s got on her same old brown housedress while he’s clad to the nines, his plumage busting out all over. He always reminds me of my friend Ed who’s equally as dapper, but more after 10 a.m. Of course if you look at the Missus closely, you see she has one festive feather at the hem of her wing in a majestic midnight blue, so understated is she.
Last but no least, there’s always one female wandering alone either searching for a mate or running away from one, as if they had a fight. But nature, who always takes care of her own, will no doubt patch it up so we’ll have four sets of ducklings rompin and stompin in the very near future.
As for me, that robin doing her bedroom over has really inspired me. I’m heading out to Bloomingdales to buy new sheets and pillow shams.