Phainopepla

Suddenly a dark bird with white wing patches shot up like a rocket from the thorn thicket, airplaned above us a moment, and then in pure love of adventure nosedived and hurtled downward, reveling in the narrow margin of being impaled on the thorns. It was a male PHAINOPEPLA gayly dressed like an Indian on the warpath with the slender black feathers of his bonnet standing stiffly erect. His crest was like that of a Cedar Waxwing but his long tail and trim body gave him the very poetry of motion above his realm of thorns.

Just then another male appeared above the mesquites and our black prince darted out, a veritable D'artagnan in conflict. Pursuer and pursued dove and circled till at times it seemed as if they would strike in midair; finally they rose higher and higher until both birds were but tiny specks and the intruder was driven away. Our bird tobogganed like a black meteor in a long glide until he was straight above his home when, with a twist of his wings, he shot earthward as if playing with death and brought up on the limb beside his mate as lightly as the touch of floating thistledown. His gray-cloaked wife viewed the whole performance with feminine unconcern. Straightway he was off again but this time in search of building material. In two minutes he returned, slipped into the bunch of mistletoe and twisted around and around as he molded a new grass nest. What a homesite with a tangle of branches loaded with a food supply of berries! His mate followed and watched while he talked in a queer, clicking language that sounded like the snapping of his beak. Again and again he brought a variety of fittings and worked them carefully while his wife looked on in approval but made no effort to help. It was a fair arrangement. Between times he stopt to warble notes as alluring as the male mocking bird that lived on the other side of the thicket.

The dashing black Phainopepla is an attentive lover and father. He builds the nest, helps to keep the eggs warm and assists in hunting dinner for his bantlings. After the hunt he drops to the edge of the nest empty-handed, as it were, yet still he carries a full dinner pail. As if by magic a red berry appears in his bill and he drops it into a hungry mouth. Another and another appear and it is only by looking very closely that one can see he is regurgitating the feast for his nestlings. Just the slightest swelling of his throat as berry after berry appeases the hunger of the young.

-Finley.