Bonnie and Clyde were the first to enter my life.
When Dick and I lived in our remote cabin on Tucker Lake, we were fascinated by a pair of large gray birds that began hanging around especially when I emptied the slop pail. We dubbed them Bonnie and Clyde, partly because of the popular movie at the time, partly because they were brazen robbers. They were the first Canadian jays or whiskey jacks I’d seen.
Clyde actually landed on our hands to take food and once, tried to land on my head. Bonnie had better manners. She waited in the underbrush but moved like lightning when she swooped down to take carrot chunks or leftover bacon the minute I emptied the dishwater.
With their chuck-chucking noises and soft whistles, the jays were delightful company. They even brought a noisy, squalling offspring later in the spring, and they were one of our last sights as the canoe moved down the lake when we left Tucker for good.
But my life with whiskey jacks didn’t end there. Over the years a few have come and gone but never stayed. This year is different.
Another Canadian jay couple befriended me last month in Canada. I call them Sonny and Cher although I’m not sure the name fits. They descended on me one day as I was carrying water from Lac to the cabin.
I ran in, grabbed a bag of old bread and spread hunks on the top a tall tree trunk. Tall was necessary because my dogs weren’t fond of the whiskey jacks and wanted the treats for themselves.
These jays warmed up immediately. One landed as I was setting down food, and I knew I had new friends. I lavished them with goodies and before we left for home, made sure to give them the leftover scrambled eggs and grilled potatoes, hoping the memory might imprint and they’d greet me when I return.
My third relationship with whiskey jacks is currently developing here at my house on Devil Track Lake. A rather humble couple has moved into the neighborhood. They quietly flit from feeder to feeder, gobbling up suet before they fly off to my neighbor in the west.
I’m having trouble figuring out names for them. Ozzie and Harriet? I’m still getting to know them and open to suggestions.
This couple shows up early in the mornings, staying well into the November twilights. Their camaraderie as they share a feeder is heartwarming to watch.
Needless to say, my suet bill is running high, and last week at the grocery store, as I emptied my shopping cart, I mentioned my situation to the checkout lady, adding I was happy to see the jays.
She agreed. “I’ll give them anything to eat if they’ll just stay,” she commented filling my grocery bag with suet balls.
Exactly my sentiments.
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