John Kricher
Say’s Phoebe. Photograph by John Kricher.
Imaginary conversation, say, for instance, somewhere in eastern Massachusetts in October:
Birder 1: “Say, what’s that bird perched on the wire fence, the bird flipping its tail up and down? Some kind of flycatcher?”
Birder 2: “Must be a phoebe, right size and jizz. But wait a minute, look at it…. Rusty undersides, black tail. Say, it must be a Say’s Phoebe. Wow.”
Birder 1: “I’ll say it is, Say’s Phoebe. All field marks. We found ourselves a good bird.”
Birder 2: “I’ll get a photo for eBird. What do you say we go get a beer to celebrate?”
Birder 1, later, sipping beer: “What a find. We did well. Who was Say anyway?”
Birder 2: also sipping beer: “Say what? Who was Say? How would I know? Whoever he was, we saw his phoebe.”
Smiles and good-natured laugher. Beer glasses clink, celebration complete. Say no more.
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