On Thu, 04 Nov 2010 15:22:06 -0700, Gunner Asch
wrote:

Rather cute and nice.

http://www.wimp.com/babyhummingbird/

gunner

Indeed.

I once, as a kid, had a parakeet that tame. He didn't come that tame,
I had to tame him. Caught him with a butterfly net for a while until
we eventually got things sorted out.

He was only in his cage at night, otherwise always free. He'd land on
my finger anytime I offered it, and sometimes on my head or shoulder
when I didn't offer a finger perch. I have a photo of him perched on
the barrel of my .22 rifle as I cleaned it, he being a curious bird.
When I played the piano he'd land on the back of my hand and peck at
my moving fingers -- he was helping! If I wasn't there he'd perch on
the frame of a wall-mounted mirror and sing to his image for hours. We
still have that mirror. The frame is made of walnut, turned by my dad
before WW II.

The parakeet never talked, but he sang almost constantly. Sometimes he
imitated birds he heard outside. We named him Caruso, after the tenor
opera singer Enrico Caruso that my grandfather Onni Sirola so admired.
A few years ago I was sitting in a lawn chair on Mary's primitive land
on Big Sandy Lake up north, reading a book and drinking a Coke. Red
can, right? An airborne creature wanted some o' thet. Mary thought
it was a big bumblebee and was about to swat it away from me.
NOOOOOOO -- it was a hummingbird! Hummingbirds like red. I was happy
to share my Coke with it. Hummingbirds don't drink much.

On Mon, 08 Nov 2010 01:17:33 -0600, Don Foreman
wrote:

On Thu, 04 Nov 2010 15:22:06 -0700, Gunner Asch
wrote:

Rather cute and nice.

http://www.wimp.com/babyhummingbird/

gunner

Indeed.

I once, as a kid, had a parakeet that tame. He didn't come that tame,
I had to tame him. Caught him with a butterfly net for a while until
we eventually got things sorted out.

He was only in his cage at night, otherwise always free. He'd land on
my finger anytime I offered it, and sometimes on my head or shoulder
when I didn't offer a finger perch. I have a photo of him perched on
the barrel of my .22 rifle as I cleaned it, he being a curious bird.

I once had a prospective girlfriend's parakeet land on my shoulder. It
was amusing while he went back and forth on my shoulders. But when he
flew up to the top of my head and landed, then **** all over me, I
wasn't amused at all. It gave her an excuse to climb all over me so I
guess the night turned out alright. Damned bird got me the girl, ah
reckon.


When I played the piano he'd land on the back of my hand and peck at
my moving fingers -- he was helping! If I wasn't there he'd perch on
the frame of a wall-mounted mirror and sing to his image for hours. We
still have that mirror. The frame is made of walnut, turned by my dad
before WW II.

Narcissisitic bird, eh? Funny.


The parakeet never talked, but he sang almost constantly. Sometimes he
imitated birds he heard outside. We named him Caruso, after the tenor
opera singer Enrico Caruso that my grandfather Onni Sirola so admired.
A few years ago I was sitting in a lawn chair on Mary's primitive land
on Big Sandy Lake up north, reading a book and drinking a Coke. Red
can, right? An airborne creature wanted some o' thet. Mary thought
it was a big bumblebee and was about to swat it away from me.
NOOOOOOO -- it was a hummingbird! Hummingbirds like red. I was happy
to share my Coke with it. Hummingbirds don't drink much.

Hummers are wondrous little critters, aren't they? I didn't know that
they made much noise until I sat on Mom's back patio and heard two of
them having a dogfight in the air. As they did their quick stops and
jetted off at 90 degrees, their wings made tremendous noises.

When I was wandering through New Mexico about a decade ago, I stopped
at the Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge. They had a dozen
multi-station hummer feeders and I swear there were at least FIFTY
hummers flitting around them. I'd never seen so many in one place at
one time. Great!

--
Happiness is not a station you arrive at, but a manner of traveling.
-- Margaret Lee Runbeck

Don Foreman wrote:
... Hummingbirds like red. I was happy
to share my Coke with it. ...

Tame songbirds are a treat. Their being so wild makes a friendly visit
rare. Ruth Stout (the mulch-gardening author) wrote of having "trained"
a catbird to come to her hand for strawberries. How I envied her.
Supposedly one can train chickadees to come to your hand for whatever it
is that chickadees think is a treat. I don't have the patience.
Someday when I'm too infirm to do anything else, I'll sit out on the
lawn and train chickadees.

Bob