My grandmother taught me to appreciate birds. In the broad expanse of her San Angelo backyard, we sat quietly and watched the blue jays and cardinals.
Mockingbirds, as the official state bird of Texas, brought special deference. I listened to the remarkably varied calls of this brown and white creature. Secretly, I also loved it when the mockingbirds would dive-bomb my grandmother’s cats. I’m not sure that contact was ever made. But it was great fun to see the felines stroll pompously across the lawn and then pop several feet in the air in a violent — yet comical — reaction to the sudden rush of wings and feathers and beak.
Being from Lubbock in a time that trees were few, birds were a scarce commodity. That’s no longer true. The black birds are in Lubbock and Abilene and San Angelo and I suppose anywhere else there is air. Now, there are many variety of black birds. Around here their most frequent label is “nuisance.”
This morning, as I sat in my car in the bank drive-through, I observed two of these birds strutting on the lawn. Being spring, a young bird’s fancy was turned to . . . well, other young birds. Squawking, preening, rustling feather, shaking wings, the peculiar head-tilt toward the stars — the couple had eyes only for each other.
But then two smaller brown birds arrived to check out the morning fare of bugs and worms in that particular green belt. The black birds were incensed. Wings outstretched, they rushed towards their smaller cousins, screeching and shaking. I expected to see the new arrivals take flight. Instead, they merely turned their backs and ignored the offended.
Enraged, the black birds circled and charged from the other side. The brown birds turned again. Finally, in a last-ditch effort to remove the intruders from their private courting area, the black birds hopped skyward and flew toward the brown birds.
In a move that would have been envied on “Dancing with the Stars,” the little brown birds turned in unison and leaped skyward directly toward the black birds. The larger fowl were startled and literally fell to the ground in a heap of feathers and embarrassment.
With that, the brown birds returned to the lawn and resumed their feeding. The black birds stood awkwardly and appeared to whisper to each other. Moments later, one of the brown birds chirped and, as if hearing an invitation, the two black birds hopped forward and joined the smaller couple in breakfast.
I work with people in conflict for a living. It seems to me that we could all learn something from the patience of the brown birds. And we could really benefit by being willing to adapt like the black birds. The truth is — we really can all get along.