The War of the Hummingbirds

I confess that I am completely pussy, horse, dog and canary- whipped by the other residents of Seven Hills Farm West. Morning till night, I’m at their beck and call. 

The day begins when Dalai the Dane says so. That's usually between 5:30 and 7:00 AM when she slowly slides off the bed. She moves through a downward dog pose that yogis would die for, and marches to my side of the bed. If her wagging tail whacking the wall doesn’t wake me, she shoves her big, black nose in my face and snorts. Loudly. I’m up.

From there, while I’m still in my jammies, the dogs go outside in the front and I feed the horses out back. Once the dogs and cat eat, I can make my coffee. No variation in this ritual is permitted.

I accept that this is my own fault. But I might, just might have reached the breaking point. It’s bad enough that my pets push me around; now, a wild hummingbird has started calling the shots. And he’s taking no prisoners. 

It started simply enough. While mom was staying with me, I thought she’d get a kick out of watching a hummingbird feeder. I got one and hung it on a pole directly in front of my dining room window. 

After making a pot of hummingbird goop (four cups of water, one cup of sugar and a little red food coloring) I filled the feeder and we settled down to watch the results.

I have seen dozens of internet videos of people’s yards filled with dozens of feeders and hundreds of hummingbirds. I knew that was unlikely, but was hoping for one or two.

It didn’t take long before the birds arrived. There were five individuals; two adult males, a female and two juveniles. We wore out my copy of Hummingbirds of Western America trying to decide if they were Rufous or Anna’s Hummingbirds, both of which are very common, and frankly to my eye, identical.  Both species are all about the size of a thumb, have greenish –brown iridescent feathers and a splash of red, and their wings make a metallic buzzing noise.

Whatever breed they are, my hummingbirds are voracious eaters. Keeping those tiny whirring burns a ton of calories.  After they stuff themselves they find a nearby branch to rest and digest before chowing down again. At night, they go into torpor to save calories. Seriously.

Eat, rest, eat, sleep. It’s a pretty good life for anyone, particularly a bird.

Recently I noticed that only the bigger bird, the one I had dubbed Wally, was still a regular visitor. Initially I thought it was because so many flowers were blooming and the other birds were organic eaters.

Nope.

I realized my mistake while I was in the backyard, watching Jasper the Dane splash in his kiddie pool, (Yes, Jasper has his own extra-large plastic pool. He gets hot. Don’t judge me.) I saw the smaller male, Clem, cautiously approach the feeder. Instantly Wally dove down from the top of my 50-foot pine tree aimed directly at Clem.

It was like watching a Mob hit. Clem never saw it coming. Wally knocked him so hard Clem bounced off the ground before he flew away, wobbling. Wally calmly sat on the feeder eating. Nothing to see here, apparently.

I crossed paths with Wally a couple of days later when I was picking tomatoes. Now this is a big deal for me. In the past when I’ve planted tomatoes I’ve babied them, watering and fretting over them only to have the one tomato in my crop chomped by sparrows moments before I picked it.

Not this year. After a five year gardening hiatus, I took a chance on two heirloom plants and plopped them in a raised bed feet away from the hummingbird feeder. To my shock, the plants took off. Not only does they look like a jungle, but there are dozens of juicy tomatoes.

I was admiring my bounty, excited well beyond reason. I heard a familiar metallic buzzing,  really close. Wally, who I now realize, sits among the tomatoes after eating, was pissed and on the attack. 

He was dive bombing around my head, as threateningly as is possibly in a itsy bitsy bird. Since Wally weighs less than an ounce, I resisted the urge to swat him, but I did feel a new kinship with poor Clem.

While Wally was busy with me, Clem saw his opportunity and swooped in to gulp a few snorts of sugar water before Wally noticed. That didn't take long, and Wally immediately chased Clem away.

That was it. Something snapped. I felt sorry for Clem so I bought a second feeder and hung it about 10 yards away. Clem's pretty happy now.

I do have a new fear: what if Clem transforms into a little dictator like Wally and before I know it, my whole place is dotted with private hummingbird feeders servicing mean individual birds? It could happen. That's probably how those the people in those internet video started.

As I pounded in the Clem's pole, I realized that it was already too late. At least hummingbirds are pretty. Especially in bulk.