Green Bird of Happiness?

Yesterday morning while playing fetch with Gromit in our backyard, I spotted a bird much like the one pictured here -- a Quaker Parakeet, if I'm not mistaken. I didn't see him until he flew up from the ground to the low branches of a dogwood tree. A flash of pale green, he caught my eye and I walked closer to the dogwood to make sure I hadn't imagined him. Sure enough, there he was. Then he flew from the dogwood to a tangled mass of Japanese privet in the northwestern most corner of the yard. It was then that I began calling to him, talking to him, beckoning him. Gromit was pretty much oblivious to the beautiful bird overhead, but continued running around spastically in the cold morning grass.

Then the parakeet flew from the privet across the width of the yard and landed on the ground near our jasmine-covered gazebo. I walked over to him and he allowed me to get as close as six or seven feet before he would briskly walk away from me. I walked this way, with him leading me while I sweet-talked him around a full circle back to the western edge of the yard. I guess I was too brash, not slow or patient enough because at that point he got spooked and flew up to the branches of a nearby tree.

I quickly went into the house to get Lisa and my son, Parks, to tell them the amazing thing I'd found in our yard. When the three of us returned, it took a few seconds before I located him again. He had flown to the lowest branch in a small oak tree at the northen-most edge of the yard, just inside the fence separating our property from the tree and scrub-filled railroad easement.

We must have scared him, the sight of the three of us plus a hyperactive Dachshund puppy. He flew from the oak tree in our yard into the mass of trees and undergrowth along the railroad track and disappeared.

That was about 36 hours ago and I haven't spotted him again. And believe me, I've tried. I've spent the better part of yesterday and today gazing out the back windows of the guesthouse studio, hoping for a small flash of green. I've probably walked around the backyard whistling for him, calling him ("Birdie num num" or simply "Birdie") a dozen times. The Mexican construction workers in the in-fill development next door must think I'm loco.

I worry about that bird. I want to find that bird. Temperatures were around 40 last night and will get down to about 35 degrees tonight. He would make a great pet for the office, safely separated from the dog and cat. I would name him "Princeton" or "Num Num." He would make me happy.

But I must find him. And capture him. Bird seed in a bowl on the back porch. A large beach towel to toss over him and subdue him. But first I must see him. I must at least know he's there.

Then I wonder: If this beautiful bird is gone forever, never to be seen by me again. Why did I see him in the first place? Why that morning was I out in the backyard at the crack of dawn? Why did I follow that flash of green? If only I had never seen it, I wouldn't be longing for this silly, beautiful bird. I wouldn't be walking around my backyard tonight with a flashlight and a beach towel and a bird call. I wouldn't even know what a Quaker Parakeet was. But I do. And I am. And I know I'll be whistling and calling for him in my backyard tomorrow morning.