Saturday, June 21, 2014

One angry flyboy

June 21, 2014

If you’ve been following along here at Between the Keys you know I enjoy living in the country. I know for some there is nothing like the big city, and I confess I love to visit New York and soak up the electric vibe. You see, the real upside of country living is we can go to the city and find hotels. City dwellers can’t come to the country and find our vibe in resorts, bed & breakfasts or campgrounds.

Of course, city dwellers are probably a lot safer from summer’s one great menacing presence. It’s not what you might think. It’s not snakes, spiders, bears, bats, bees or ticks. It’s the Ruby-throated hummingbird.

I kid you not.

The ruby-throated hummingbird is the smallest breeding species of bird found in the eastern USA and Canada. They’re small, tiny even, but they’re one full ounce of pure wily aggression. (If they even weigh that much.) And this morning one nasty little flyboy put me in my place.

I kid you not.

It was my own fault. I knew last evening his favorite feeder (I put out two feeders) was empty and instead of refilling it then, I waited until this morning. Mistake one. I was sitting at my desk, playing around on Twitter, when a flash of movement caught my eye. I paused and looked out the window to find the hummingbird hovering, staring right at me through the glass with his beady little eyes. I ignored him. Mistake two.

When my coffee cup ran dry, I decided I’d refill his feeder (having made nectar last night in preparation) while the k-cup machine brewed my coffee. I stepped outside on the patio to get the feeder and there he was, lurking in the maple tree. I took the feeder off the hook and the little ingrate dive-bombed me!

I filled the feeder as quickly as humanly possible and carried it back to the hook. I barely got it up when he came at me again. This time he hovered in front of my face and chittered in his high-pitched voice. I’m sure I was not painted in a favorable light even though I’d just provided fresh go-go juice.

I hear and obey, oh Master. I’ll never allow the feeder to run dry again.


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