Our friends Andrea and Andrew were over last week. Andrea mentioned she has a bird out her window that makes a sound [like so]. I can’t write out the sound but it’s a high note then a lower note and she says it in pitch. She can’t see it but she hears it all the time and she wanted to know what it was. At its mention, I told her right away, with confidence, “My Dad could name that bird.”
As a kid, my Dad taught us a lot about bird sounds and names, tree types and patterns, animal poop and tracks… and do you think that I took much of it into my little brain and made it stick? Nosiree. I wish. The good thing is, he’s still teaching us, so I’m trying to pay more attention now.
Anyway, I called up Dad and did a poor impression of Andrea’s mystery bird. He said, “Is it like this: [insert bird sound]?” I said, “Yah, kinda like this: [insert poor attempt].” We went back and forth a bit trying to communicate in bird language until finally he concluded, “It’s a mourning dove.” Just like that. A mourning dove.
Mystery bird solved. I told Andrea right away.