A Close Encounter

by Roger Mayhorn

I immediately noticed that this little fellow was different. He did not seem in the least afraid, only slightly concerned. He tilted his little black-capped head first one way, then the other with the evening sunlight glinting off his small black eyes. He tried again to find a seed in the feeder, finally gave up, and then turned to face me. By this time I had my arm fully extended, hand open with a few seeds in my palm. He looked at this feast, but made no move toward it.

I suppose I stood in that position for at least two to three minutes, and he just sat there watching me watching him with his tail giving little flips every few seconds. I inched my hand closer, expecting any second to see him fly to a higher branch. Instead he just sat and watched as my hand inched closer, then still closer. By this time my fingers were almost touching his light gray chest feathers.

Meanwhile, four or five of his friends higher up in the tree were scolding me and seemed to be trying to warn him of impending danger. He did not seem to be in the least disturbed by it all. I was beginning to think that he might be ill. He wasn’t moving about as much as his fellows, and his feathers looked as if they might not be quite as sleek and shiny as did those of his friends.

Finally, my fingers were only millimeters from his chest. He tilted his head to the side, eyed the sunflower seeds, then pertly hopped onto my hand. He chose a seed, and showing no fear, flew to a branch about a foot above and began to work on the seed with his back to me. He had the seed positioned under his foot while he hammered at it with his bill.

I was amazed and exhilarated. Most birds, had they been brave enough to take a seed, would not have chosen a branch just in front of my face, and they certainly would not have turned their backs to me and have ignored me. They would have been watching me every second. This brave, or foolish fellow, finished the seed and turned back to face me, looking for more, but made no attempt to hop into my hand. I waited; when he did not move I moved my hand closer until my finger was touching his chest. I stroked it softly. He just tilted his head, then looked at me with those bright, intelligent looking, ebony eyes. He then hopped onto my finger, plucked a seed from the crack between my fingers, and sat there with it in his bill, as if he were not very hungry and was in no hurry to eat it.

There is something about the touch of a wild creature that has voluntarily placed itself at your mercy that cannot be explained. It has to be experienced. The best analogy I can think of, and it’s not a very good one, is the feeling one gets when a baby, willingly, of its own volition, puts its small hand into yours for the first time, trusting that you will not harm it.

This tiny feathered creature, weighing almost nothing, still holding the seed, flew again to the same near branch as before and began to work in earnest. He was an expert. With but a few blows he had one end of the seed opened and had begun eating the meat from the inside. Once again he ignored me, while I stood unmindful of my aching arm that had been held in one position too long.

He finished the second seed, hopped to another branch, looked around, then flew past the front of the house into the thick mass of Forsythia bushes and disappeared. I just stood there for a moment or two after he had gone, surprised and rather in awe of what had just transpired.

Even now I can remember the feel of his little feet soft on my skin as he deftly picked up the seed. This is another of those special, treasured moments that the natural world very infrequently provides to those of us who go looking. In future times, when I have a moment of relaxation and inner reflection, I will replay this few minutes; this golden nugget of time, and my spirit will be lifted by it.