Singing the Blues

(Western Bluebirds)

A year or so ago, we found a pocket park in Long Beach where the local law seems willing to ignore an old guy tossing balls for his dog to return—OFF LEASH. If you utter the word “park” in Seamus’s presence, you’d better be ready to head to the car and deliver. Scientists seem to continue an argument about whether dogs experience emotions. When Seamus bounds from the car and dances his readiness for the first throw, I can tell you, I know pure joy when I see it.

Thus I find myself at this little green acre several times a week and from late spring to mid fall, Western Bluebirds are constant companions. A nesting box, just right for the Bluebird, is attached to one of the Palm trees on the far side of the field. This past year a male and female delivered several broods. By August, the area was awash in Bluebirds.

Their wings are pointed and long for the bird’s size. Those characteristics and their feeding habit of sitting on low tree branches, or handy sign posts, or fences from which they drop to the ground to nab an insect or worm or two makes them quite easy to identify. “Well, aren’t they blue?” you might ask. Only when the light strikes their feathers just right. Otherwise they may be a pretty nondescript and disappointing gray.