And for those of you who are too lazy, the list is:

6. Spider-Man

5. Hulk

4. Cyclops

3. Hawkeye

2. Yellowjacket

1. Mr. Fantastic!

For now, we are spoon feeding him and hopefully we'll be able to set him free once his flight feathers grow in. As anyone who has found little wild chicks like this can tell you, it can be a challenge to keep baby wild birds alive once you take them in. I hope this little guy, who my daughter has already nicknamed "Tweet", makes it.

To feed him I am using a tiny baby spoon which is actually just a little narrower than the inside diameter of his beak. A teaspoon can also work well if you bend the edges of the spoon in and kind of over to fit inside the bird's beak enough to get the food down its throat.

To Kill A Mocking Bird, a Pulitzer prize winning novel by Harper Lee is one of the classics of modern fiction. Set in the period of The great depression, the novel truely presents the racial and social inequalities prevalent in America during that period. Though, the book deals with serious issues, it is a very warm and at times humourous. Due to the excellent blend of humour, warmth and a serious plot, To Kill a Mocking Bird, is still among the most widely read novels. A must-read for all book lovers!!!!!

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Pages: 309
Price: Rs.255.00

"For you, a thousand times over...." The Kite Runner by Khalid Hossieni is a novel about human emotions. Set in the backdrop of pre-Taliban Afghanisthan and America, The Kite Runner is a very well written, almost poetic book which might even prove thought -provking for some of us. Definitely worth reading!!!

Publisher : 2003, Paperback, Bloomsbury ( Penguin Books)
Author : Khaled Hosseini
Pages : 324
MRP:Rs. 320

A silhouette of the mockingbird in sepia…

© 2008 D L Ennis, All rights reserved.

NOTE: Permission for the use of my images is granted for personal websites and blogs but is to include a link back to this site and proper credit given to me, D L Ennis. Link to be used...(Visual Thoughts http://dlennis.wordpress.com/)

NOTE: Commercial use, and the creation of prints, must be purchased! For more information you can contact me here.

As you can see by the image to the left, I really am writing about the actual Mockingbird, not the Pulitzer Prize-winning novel or the movie, "To Kill a Mockingbird" written by Harper Lee. Although I love the book and adapted movie, starring Gregory Peck, I'm concerned less with metaphor and more with real-deal Mimus Polyglottos.

Over the past week or so my wife and I have noticed a Mockingbird singing at night and for hours on end, changing his crisp night song about every 10 to 15 seconds. Although I love the song of the Mockingbird, it can get a little annoying when you're trying to get some shut-eye. If it was up to me, I would prefer the Mockingbird's song for a wake-up alarm verses a good-night prayer. Nevertheless, I've learned to overcome the incessant clatter of my fine, feathered friend.

Although we've had successive families of the Northern Mockingbird around our house since we moved to New London, this is the first summer we've noticed the night song. I though the bird was cookoo or something. Come to find out, he wasn't cookoo at all. I was just a bit unenlightened. What I discovered, by a few clicks of the mouse, was that this night song was actually a very natural and normal behavior. Who knew?

So, what the heck is going on here? Seems that the night crooner is a male bird just looking for some "friendship." More aptly, a mate. In a story posted on Birdwatching.com by Diane Porter, titled, "Listen to the Mockingbird" she gives these notes on the Mockingbird:

The Northern Mockingbird is a world-famous singer, considered finer even than the Nightingale of Europe (the one John Keats wrote about in his "Ode to a Nightingale"). The male mockingbird sings a medley of songs belonging to other birds, repeating each phrase several times before moving on to the next. Unlike most songbirds, which learn their songs before they're a year old, a mockingbird continues to expand his repertoire all his life. Some include the sounds of people whistling, frogs croaking, and doorbells ringing.

Although all adult male mockingbirds sing during the day, only a bachelor sings at night. He stops doing that as soon as he wins a mate.

Although I could launch into a trove of metaphor at this point, for the sake of brevity and survival, I'll stick with the present facts. (My wife may have a contrary view to what I am thinking about...). At any rate, since becoming acquainted with the Mockingbird's night choruses, I've not only learned to enjoy their nocturnal melodies, but actually look forward to them every night,. I'm sure the lonely male Mockingbird has a different opinion about it though. So do I really want to "chill" the Mockingbird? Not on your life. Like Harper Lee noted in her novel,

"Mockingbirds don't do one thing but make music for us to enjoy. They don't eat up people's gardens, don't nest in corncribs, they don't do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That's why it's a sin to kill a mockingbird."

I couldn't agree more.

Related Articles:

Attracting the Northern Mockingbird - Birds Forever

To Kill a Mockingbird - Sparknotes

Listen to the Mockingbird's song by clicking on the image below:

Listen to Carly Simon and James Taylor sing "Mockingbird" by clicking on her image below

Lyrics

Mock (yeah)
ing (yeah)
bird (yeah)
yeah (yeah)
Mockin'bird, now

Everybody have you heard
He's gonna buy me a mockingbird
And if that mockingbird don't sing
He's gonna buy me a diamond ring
And if that diamond ring won't shine
He's gonna surely break this heart of mine
And that's why I keep on tellin' everybody
Say yeah, yeah whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, uh, oh

Hear me now and understand
He's gonna find me some piece of mind
And if that piece of mind won't stay
I'm gonna find myself a better way
And if that better way ain't so
I'll ride with the tide and go with the flow
And that's why I keep on shoutin' in your ear
Say yeah, yeah whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, uh, oh

Now, everybody have you heard
She's gonna buy me a mockingbird
Yeah if that mockingbird don't sing
She's gonna buy me a diamond ring
And if that diamond ring won't shine
Yes, it'll surely break this heart of mine
And there's a reason why I keep on tellin' everybody
Say yeah, yeah no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no

Listen now and understand
She's gonna find me some piece of mind
Yeah if that piece of mind won't stay
I'm gonna get myself a better way
I might rise above, I might go below
Ride with the tide and go with the flow
And that's the reason why I keep on shoutin' in your ear...

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, now, now. baby

June 22 check: There is still only one egg in this nest. I have yet to see the adult birds with the nest.

Pictures and text copyright © 2008 by Janice Green

Hazy Moon

We haven’t cut wheat since Sunday evening at 6,
when a bolt loosened and a “straw walker” got mangled inside the combine.
Sunday night, more wind and rain;
then again Monday
and Tuesday.
Combine is fixed now.
Still muddy, everywhere.
Wheat beginning to fall down.
The price for a bushel is up - to $8.65 today.
Weeds growing in the wheat.
Predictions of more rain.
But there was no rain last night.

The moon appeared in the southeast sky just after 10.
Orange and hazy in the clouds.
Strangely, a mockingbird was singing.

And this morning, just after the sun appeared, the mockingbird was singing
before anyone else.
It’s sunny.
There’s hope.

Heard of Mockingbird Games? They are a local Austin company founded by Andy Price and Troy Gilbert that puts the power of video game design into your hands for $9.95. There was an article in the statesman about the company and the reporter of the article designed a game you can play online to see how it works.

Game designing or modification by the customer is often built into games for added gameplay flexibility. Blizzard is one of the most well known companies that allow this type of modification to gameplay in their StarCraft and WarCraft series. Some extremely popular games even started out as user created modifications/designs: popular game Counterstrike began as a customer modification of a game called Half-Life; the game company liked the modified version of the game so much they released it themselves!

Mockingbird Games has been bootstrapped and is currently looking for investors. I think the main question I would have concerns their long term monetization plan. One way they could make money is to charge for the software, in which case they are in the software business. Another way would be to try and create a money making machine that they get to be a part of by getting all those game developers out there working for them and acting as developers and sales people who make them money.

Anyhow, I went on a walk this morning with Sarah through her neighborhood, and we had some close encounters of the bird kind. There were two separate instances where a falcon/hawk/some kind of large bird with pretty significantly sized talons was being chased away by tiny little mockingbirds. They were likely protecting their babies.

It's amusing, though, to see such a massive bird get bullied away by two or three little birds who incessantly peck at them. Neither time did the larger bird do anything to fend off the mockingbirds. It just flew away eventually with a trail of angry mamas behind it.

Later on our walk, we encountered a baby mockingbird...on the ground. One of his legs was pretty twisted, so he was hopping around on just one. We weren't sure if the parents had rejected him or if he fell out and hurt is leg. His parents were freaking out in a nearby tree over a couple of blue jays that had been swooping near the baby. Trying to be good Samaritans, we picked up the bird and took him back to Sarah's house to assess his situation.

The power went out last night (apparently a woodpecker got into the transformer...oh my), and while mine was on, Sarah's was not. The poor guy seemed to be in shock or playing dead or something. He wouldn't budge after we put him in a box (with cushioning, of course). We couldn't do any research to figure out what we should feed him or anything (power out), so I headed back to my place to sort it out. Turns out, we should have just left him. He was likely fledging (learning to fly) based on the amount of feathers he had and based on the fact that his parents were still protecting him (hadn't rejected him).

As I type, Sarah's putting him back out into the wild. I so hope that he doesn't come face-to-face with any of the many neighborhood cats or blue jays. Eep!

May 30, 2008

Beneath our fourth-floor-flat; somewhere on the sidewalk or in a nest fitted into the canopy of some tree, or maybe over the top of a gutter; I hear a mockingbird chic crying.  Well into the afternoon he or she utters peep after tiny peep into the thick air until you learn to ignore it as you might ignore the fire alarm with a low battery:  Beep…  beep.

Into the night, the chirping continues, though by this time I am only loosely aware of the sound emanating from some poor hapless creature outside my window.  It isn’t until after midnight, when my family is sleeping and the soothing fan is oscillating from its post across the room that I rediscover the little peeper in my head. 

“Peep,” it calls out; lonely.  “Peep,” it says, “I’m hungry.”  As the night wears on it begins to think, “Peep,”  “Come on guys; this isn’t funny.”  Where are you?  The little bird has been abandoned.  I consider getting up to investigate- but I am tired and my youngest child has a fever and has spent the day in the ER, so I wait it out.  Maybe the little bird will go to sleep. 

After midnight:  Peep, peep.  Peep.  Peep.  “Help me, I’m all alone!”  Poor bird.  I should get up and help it.  I am walking into the heat of the southern early summer, through the heavy fire door of my fourth-floor flat, down cement halls, barefoot and cautiously aware of my vulnerability.   I float into the smoky elevator that quacks at every floor and out through the gated door where I stand looking up at my darkened windows feeling very alone in the world.  Peep, I think to myself, peep.

“Peep” the bird cries and awakens me to the fact that I am only standing at an open window four protected floors above him.  Peep, I cry out inside.  

The least movement is of importance to all nature. The entire ocean is affected by a pebble.
Blaise Pascal

I was unloading the empties at H2O to Go today and noticed a splatter of bird poop on our car. Instead of my usual annoyance, I felt compassionate tolerance. Instead of being grossed out, I saw the poop as "healthy" (i.e., two colors, not greenish).

Overnight, I've learned a lot about birds.

I'm typing in our living room. Marcus is on the carpet in front of me, Gracie's curled up in a kitty donut on the dining room counter. George is exploring out back, and Inca's sleeping in her pyramid bed upstairs. I hear a chain saw outside, or maybe it's a weed eater. Other than that, the winds that blew in our temporary house guest have mellowed, even retreated, and the birds are surprisingly silent.

That is, except for one.

She trustingly chirps whenever she wants to eat, which is about every 20-45 minutes. Last night, Cindi Valencia and Cheryl Grackin, wildlife rehab volunteers, walked me through the steps of caring for a wild bird, until the Wildlife Care Association (WCA) opened in the morning.

I set him up in the downstairs bathroom. Our nestling mockingbird readily accepted food and water, then napped. Later in the evening, I thought her breathing seemed labored. Of more concern, his body felt cool (birds have high body temperatures). Misunderstanding a direction, I had aspirated the nestling (often fatal). Aspiration is when food or water goes down the bird's trachea into its lungs, something Cheryl kindly reassured me that even trained volunteers can't always avoid.

That took care of practical support. Homeopathically, I administered first-aid remedies between 6 p.m.and midnight. I gave Aconite for shock and fright; Arnica for shock and a possible sprained toe; Antimonium tartaricum as its breathing turned into a wheeze; and, Phosphorus because I wasn't satisfied with Ant-t. Before bed, I changed the remedy to Ferrum phosphoricum (Tilly's remedy), for pneumonia and rattling bronchitis in children—even though it was a bird, and even though the "pneumonia" had been mechanically induced.

To my surprise, at 3:00 a.m. the bird was still alive. It's breathing was more labored, though, and it was lethargic and refused to eat. I continued to watch for homeopathic symptoms. When I noticed it wheezed only when it breathed in, I went back to my books, changed its remedy to Kali carbonicum, and, on a wing and a prayer, went to bed.

Early this morning, this brave little mockingbird not only greeted me with better vitality, but with an open, hungry mouth. My original plan had been to drop her off at WCA when they opened at 10:00, where I thought he would receive better care. That's no longer true. Also, Cindi and Cheryl assured me that I was doing everything they could.

My revised plan is to stabilize her with homeopathy—i.e., "undo" the aspiration—then turn her over to the care of WCA for the remainder of her rehab and, I hope, return to the wild blue yonder.

Healthy, this is what she'll look like full-grown. Happy, this is how she'll sound: Sounds of the Northern Mockingbird.

Our nestling brought to mind a lullaby I used to sing to Shirley as we rocked and nursed into the solitude of Colorado's nights: The Mockingbird Song (just the first few lines).

This morning, I was prepared to bury a dead nestling mockingbird that I ambivalently interrupted yesterday's run to rescue. In surviving to another day, she's opened my heart, and renewed my hope.

Regardless of tomorrow, we've unalterably touched one another's lives today.

The Impulse to Unfurl

Consider the trees which allow the birds to perch and fly away without either
inviting them to stay or desiring them never to depart.
~ Zen Buddhist teaching

Sheltered from the thrusting winds in the upturned hem of my shimmel running top last Thursday evening, this mockingbird nestling returned home with me on the advice of our veterinary clinic. She made it through the first night because of homeopathy.

A past volunteer for the San Francisco Bay Oiled Wildlife Care and Education Center in Cordelia, California, I thought the bird needed a few more days to stabilize. I consulted with another trained volunteer that morning, who agreed—perhaps two days, at most.

I fed the nestling, then tucked it in for what I had come to expect as its post-feeding nap. Then Eric and I went out to our usual Saturday breakfast.

We returned home, the nestling happy for another feeding. Only this time, it didn't get sleepy. Not only that, the nestling had been tentatively grooming and stretching first one and then the other wing since the previous day.

In a matter of hours, it had started simultaneously stretching and flapping both wings and clearly wanted to fly.

At this stage, its wings resembled a raft of loosely connected porcupine quills, each housing unfurled feathers.

Several times each day, the nestling would smooth the quills between its beak, incrementally charming out more feathers that, two days ago, were barely visible tips.

Our nestling was well on its path to fledging, sooner than anticipated. My role completed, we prepared the nestling for its next stage of care with the Wildcare Care Association (WCA).

Twigs of Destiny

There is no such thing as chance; and what seem to us merest accident springs from the deepest source of destiny.
~ Johann Friedrich Von Schiller

One warm evening in May, as I was sweating out the day's demands on a twilight run, a baby bird blocked my path at 2 miles.

Sitting dead center where human feet and horse hooves tread, its downy coat was hardly visible against the dirt path. I looked around for its nest and parents. It looked up with all the trust in the world at my 5'10" frame. The wind continued to roar, whip the surrounding trees, and hide any nests.

Hungry, the nestling opened its mouth. Until the next rude and gusty onslaught, when it closed it again, hunkered down, dug in its feet, and held on.

Early Sunday morning, I gave the nestling its final feeding and prepared for the trip to WCA. Eric offered to drive, so I could tend the bird. We arrived in WCA's parking lot when it opened at 10:00 a.m. Inside, Kathylee Cammorata greeted us and did the intake for our nestling.

At once kind, compassionate, and humorously efficient, Kathylee was chosen as Director for the new WCA office that opened in February at McClellan. In existence for 25 years, WCA's been locally available on a seasonal basis, until now. Kathylee brings a lifetime of experience advocating for both native human and wildlife populations. She started at McClellan in May, after spending the past two years as a wildlife rehabilitator in Texas.

Kathylee laughed as she picked a mite off her sleeve. Melanie came by with a heavy heart to report the death of two sparrows. "It's hard on them," Kathylee said, nodding her head toward Melanie, her smile momentarily fading. I asked about the survival rate. She said 50% of the birds survive. Kathylee is familiar with homeopathy, so we talked about my experience and success in treating the mockingbird.

I was heartened to learn that WCA Board of Directors president, Theresa Bielawski, supports homeopathy. Volunteers successfully employ it with squirrels, yet homeopathy has yet to be used for birds. I hope to change that practice, and made myself available to talk with and teach members and veterinarians to whom homeopathy is an unknown or, more often, misunderstood.

I mentioned volunteering for bird rehab in my previous blog. Several years ago, I spent a few days in Cordelia over Christmas helping out with the San Francisco Bay oil spill.

The experience profoundly affected me, memorialized when Eric gave me this hand-carved soapstone bird when my birthday rolled around.

This past week, he changed my nickname to Big Bird.

I was unsuccessful in exciting interest in homeopathy at the Oiled Wildlife Care Network (OWCN) facility in Cordelia.

Blown from the comfort of the nest built by its parents, onto a windy dirt road in Wildlife Agricultural Preserve, to a human home in Davis; guided by the knowledge, experience and love of volunteer bird rehabilitators Cheryl Grackin and Cindi Valencia, tended by myself, into the committed, competent hands of Kathylee Cammorata and all the volunteers who make WCA possible—perhaps this mockingbird nestling, who defied the odds, will prove to be the voice for birds who didn't make it, and be heard for the ones who can still be saved.

Post Script

Our fear is even stronger when we think we are responsible for others—our children, for example. We want to spare them pain, and so we forget to listen to the Sound of Creation. No one learns from someone else's mistake. If we respect others, we must recognize that they have a right to their own dance. Their own spirits will guide them.
~ Unattributed

My daughter helped me rescue the mockingbird, picking us up en route so we wouldn't be exposed to the dry, hot wind for 2 miles.

The nestling taught me that the impulse to unfurl comes from within—and deserves to be trusted.

Shirley and Jon could do worse than to further parallel the mockingbird:

Once a pair bond is established, the songs are shortened and more subdued. Sitting together quietly, both mockingbirds make a "hew-hew" call to keep in contact.

These birds are strongly monogamous.

i'm sure saying stuff like that is not really meant to be thought about too much, 'cos it's just a nice thing to say, and it relieves some of the "oh my god" of saying "goodbye forever." but i still end up just thinking "yeah, when am i actually going to see this person again?" and when the answer is "i really don't know, most likely never," it just makes me even more sad.

bar prep books: a lot of them. very heavy. i dislike.

having a lot of $1's in my wallet: makes me feel like i went to Teasers and walked out disappointed.

my bc rich mockingbird bass: others find it neck-heavy too. what a relief! i thought i was just uniquely small-shaped and too puny for it. i do so love my bass. i guess it's ok that i can never just let go of the neck and do other stuff w/ my hands. for that moment in my speculative future when i am bassist in a band and am required to start the audience clapping along by doing so myself, i'll just kick the keyboardist instead.

see? solution for everything.

I have ---

A mockingbird. It is not a pet. It lives outside.

And it sings.

At night.

A LOT.

Anyone see Failure to Launch?

Protected species my ass.

 

where the art work comes from :
that is from ji sarena

Glenn Beck called hurricane survivors in New Orleans "scumbags," said he "hates" 9-11 families

GB Jokes about "America Haters" losing homes in CA wildfires

I woke up feeling unrested. I took care of my morning stuff and started on my dirty laundry. I sorted some of my parent's stuff to throw in but I don't know what was safe and what was dry clean or if anything had any special instructions. That and I didn't want to handle either my mother or father's underware.

I ran some errands, buying new bedding for my snake and the newest comic books that I have been waiting for. Secret Invasion #2 is bad-ass. It revealed that the Spider-Man and Hawkeye from the Skrull ship were in fact Skrulls but that Mockingbird might in fact be real. I really wanted to see more of what happened to Mr. Fantastic after Skrull-Pym liquefied him but they didn't have anything. The coolest part though was the last page. An army of Super-Skrulls beamed into downtown Manhattan, all with the powers of various heroes. There was one with Colossus' skin, Wolverine's mask and 2-foot long claws, and Cyclops' visor. All that on one kick-ass villain. I can't wait to read the next issue.

I cleaned out my old closet, at my mother's request. I wasn't surprised that most of the clutter was her stuff. I must have found more then 2 dozen purses in their. I also went through the few boxes of stuff that was actually mine and pulled out some of my old comics (Amazing Spider-Man 400 where Aunt May dies), action figures (old Wolverine and Iceman), and trading cards. I have apparently come full circle in my interests over the past 13 years.

The rest of the day was alright with nothing special happening. Dinner was an entire meal complete with vegetables which is a change from my usual diet. The evening was quiet except for the rain and thunderstorms. I hope I sleep better tonight.

Currently listening to: "C'mon Girl" by The Red Chili Peppers

So, Secret Invasion #2. Heh, yeah. Where do I begin with this one?

After the first issue blew my mind, I was hoping for the momentum to keep going. Sadly, it does not. Sure, there's plenty of fighting and Brian Bendis' dialogue is top notch per usual, but are there any surprises? Not really. Most of what we've come to surmise or assume from the end of last issue's confrontation comes to fruition. Those we thought were Skrulls are Skrulls and those we didn't, seem to be the real deal. Of course, this can all change later, but so far everything that's been revealed in this book has been quite predictable.

My problem with is that the story focuses too long on the Avengers and their dealings with the "dopplegangers" in the Savage Land. Were the story to shift around more like it did previously, I'd see the bigger scope of this event. But, because Bendis keeps the story confined, we're given a small amount of reveals and perhaps too many pages of fighting. Speaking of action, it eventually moves back to New York near the end of the book, but what we're shown is just another prelude to yet another battle. Oh, and the Skrulls who invade New York? As much as I can appreciate the concept behind them, they look utterly ridiculous.

Perhaps the thing that made me smile the most was the confirmation that Sentry is the biggest wuss in the Marvel Universe. God, he's so annoying and completely useless as Marvel's "Superman". I keep hoping he'll end up being a Skrull and they'll have reason to kill him off, but alas, I don't think that'll be happening any time soon.

In the art department, Leinil Yu does another fantastic job on pencils, while Mark Morales makes the line work crisp and defined. Laura Martin also continues to shine with her vivid color palette. I can't tell you how happy I am to see a book that's not over-colored or covered in "moodiness". I wish more Marvel books were colored like this.

Ultimately, Secret Invasion #2 will be better judged as a small cog in a big machine. But if you're asking me to judge it on its merits alone, I'm going to have to say doesn't match the intensity or fun of the first issue by any means, nor does it sit well by itself. (Grade: C+)

- J. Montes

A Second Opinion

I have to respectfully disagree with Jay. To paraphrase James Cameron, "If you don't like this book, maybe you just don't like comics." Marvel comics anyway.

Sure, the plot doesn't advance much in this issue, but these are not the "instant gratification" comics of our childhood. Bendis takes his time to build suspense and explore characters. Also, I admit, to get the full impact of the most important scene in the book, you have to have read the lousy, lousy Marvel comics of the 90's, and remember a particular lousy, lousy character. It comes in the middle of the book, when Hawkeye encounters Mockingbird. He knows she's a Skrull. We know she's a Skrull. After all, Mockingbird is dead. But she is perfectly in character, and she knows a little, mind-blowing detail about Hawkeye's private life that we've never heard before. So against all better judgement, he lets her live. He knows he's going to regret it, but he simply cannot kill the woman he loves in cold blood. And does that make him a fool? Or a real man, with a real heart?

Oh, and by the way, those Skrulls who invade New York are totally awesome. (Grade: A+)

- Andrew C. Murphy

Remember these?  Well after putting them down for a while, I decided to do my best to finish them.  I painted them and attached their wings.  Their wings do move a bit. 

A while ago I bought some wooden boxes/frames from someone I know.  I have no idea how they were supposed to be used, but I thought they would make nice bases for my birds.  For each bird I also made a polymer clay piece and painted it.  Finally, I added some pieces off of a swag I bought at an after Christmas sale.

The beaks on the birds were so large that I thought I would have fun with them.  I decided to make them into 3 different birds known for their vocal talents.

 The Western Meadowlark is the Oregon State bird.   Almost every time I see one of these guys, he has his mouth open singing away.  We have a few photos of the birds sitting on fence posts in the high deserts of Nevada.  I made him a polymer clay fence post top and planted some faux grass at the bottom.

I've never seen a Mockingbird in Oregon, but my father-in-law once said to me that he liked hearing Mockingbirds in California.  I decided to give my little bird a polymer clay branch with faux leaves and berries. 

 We have a lot of Scrub Jays that visit our yard daily.  We had a nest a couple years ago and they do visit our feeders.  I gave this Scrub Jay a polymer clay branch with some faux fir branches and pine cones.

I'm waiting for some of the adhesives to dry.  For the most part they are finished.  I'll probably do a tiny bit of touch-up on them.

Fly, now, to the high branch,
throw back your head and
hit your stride. Robin and junco
envy you, but cannot deny you are
fine. They never guess your next verse
as they glance at each other, then
back at you, ever surprised by the
pensive, sublime line. They are faster
freer, wiser when they again set
their wings against the sky, knowing
they will choose to speak in their
given voice and be content.