Buster

Joy glanced out the window, then stopped, and looked again. Finally, the hummingbirds were coming. She called Joel and Caleb over to see. Caleb was explaining to Joel how the crane takes hold of things to lift them, and how the dump truck can raise its back to let the load pour out, and other fine details of the operation of heavy machinery. Since Joel’s vocabulary in this technical area had not yet grown beyond “truck,” it was slow going.

Joy lifted Joel so he could see over the buffet cabinet, as the fast-moving birds hovered around the feeder. Four yellow plastic blossoms on the sides of the red feeder offered sugar water to all comers.

Suddenly a new one arrived, and tried to ram one of the birds already there.

“Mom, it’s a bully!” Caleb understood the situation perfectly. It took Joy a minute of observation before she was willing to agree, but it became pretty obvious. Within a few minutes the bully had the feeder to himself. *** The next day several hummingbirds came, but only one stayed. They named him Buster, and were amazed at how much sugar water he could consume. When they came out and looked at him up close, he still held his ground, claiming the feeder as his own.

“They call him Buster. What do you think?” asked Jay, when the bluejays came for a look. “How long can he keep this up?”

Squawk didn’t think it would be hard for Buster to control the feeder for as long as he wanted. “All he has to do is make a run at each new bird, and they want none of it. Look how long and sharp that beak is! Plenty of other places to get sweet stuff. What do you suppose is chewing on him? What’s got him acting so obnoxious?”

“I dunno. Want to give him a little of his own medicine?”

“Let’s wait until things are a little more private. I can see Young Mother, and Happy, and Brother too, inside. They’re watching.”

When the people had gone, the jays drifted down to some branches close to the feeder. Buster had taken a break, so they settled in to wait. After a few minutes, Buster was back.

“Buster. What’s up? Why are you chasing all your buddies off?”

“I’m depressed. When I get depressed, I get pushy. When I get real depressed, I get mean. You know. Feeder Rage. I’m depressed. I’m real depressed.”

The jays considered this. He might be pulling their legs. They checked. No, their legs were fine. He might be whistling Dixie. No, they knew that tune, it must be something else. And he obviously wasn’t from the South, with that accent.

He might be … telling the truth? If so, that would make him a more dangerous bird than they realized. Feeder Rage. They had heard of that.

Curiosity was begining to replace the urge to play pranks.

“So. What are you depressed about?”

“Jenny. She left me. Again.” Another hummingbird wandered in close to the feeder. Wham.

“When it happened before … how long did you stay depressed?”

“A year. Maybe two.”

“When did she leave you?”

“Last week.” Wham.

This was not looking good for the neighborhood. No swarms of hummingbirds for the kids to look at this season, if Buster stayed in this foul mood, and it sounded like he might stay there until next Christmas if nothing was done.

Now, bluejays are not known for their straight-up, sincere desire to set the world right, to make it a better place. That desire may overwhelm them from time to time, but it has not happened in recent memory. Since Adam, for example. But this was beginning to be a challenge.

“Anyone other than Jenny in your life?”

“Yeah. Sal. And Joanie. And Mar, and Apry, and Sus, and Hon, and Wink, and …”

The obvious question. “So, how about getting with one of them?”

“They left me too.” Wham. Wham, wham, wham. Wham.

Jay and Squawk looked at each other. This was getting brutal. With a nod, Jay motioned to Squawk, and they flew back up to the oak where they could talk privately.

“He’s way, way over the line. We gotta do something.”

Squawk agreed. “But what?”

“How about some behavioral modification therapy?”

“Huh?”

“How about if we make him not act this way, by making it not feel good when he does act this way?”

“He doesn’t look like he feels too good now. You want to make him feel even worse?!?”

Jay realized he was not getting through. Might never get through, actually.

“If something unpleasant happens everytime you do something, you stop doing it. Even if you don’t realize that’s why you stopped. Even if you don’t notice the unpleasant thing, or realize the connection. Trust me, it works. I do it to you all the time.”

“Huh?”

This last bit may have been a mistake.

“What do you do to me all the time?”

“Remember how you used to squawk in the early morning, and I complained?”

“Yeah, I did it to annoy you. It was fun.”

“Have you noticed you don’t do it anymore?”

Squawk thought about it. It was true. He had stopped. It was still fun, but he never did it. Wonder why.

“Yeah, so … what’s that got to do with Buster knocking hummingbirds upside the head?”

Jay gave up.

“Any idea where Bizzer is?” he asked.

Squawk immediately forgot the earlier conversation. “Yeah, I know the tree he hangs out at. You wanna talk with him?”

Squawk soon returned with Bizzer. The horsefly had been awakened from a nap, so he was grumpy. You might not notice, exactly, because horseflies are always grumpy, but that just means a “grumpy” horsefly is really … never mind.

“Bizzer.”

“What? Are we done yet?” He would be fully awake in just a moment or two, but he wasn’t quite, yet. And since bluejays eat horseflies, this was an … awkward … conversation.

“Need a favor. Need some psychological warfare, and you are just the bug to do it.”

Well, that did it. His pride swelled, his chest puffed out, and all caution was gone. The bluejays had recognized his unique talents, his awesome capabilities, his place in the world. Self-esteem was dripping from his wingtips.

“Point me. Just point me. When it absolutely, positively has to be bitten overnight, I’m your bug. Proud to be a Bizzine. The few, the proud, the nasty. The …”

“Yes. Thank you.” Jay could see where this would lead.

“We have a depressed, lovesick hummingbird beating up on all his fellow depressed, lovesick hummingbirds. It would help him … OK, it would help the rest of us … if he experienced something unpleasant everytime he took out his Lonesome Feathered Blues on a fellow member of birdkind. I’m thinking he would change his ways.”

“Where is he? Where is he? I’m ready, I’m so ready, I’m all over this. Semper Fly. That him, by the feeder? Oooh, I see. He just pounded that bird that looks just like him. Ouch. That’s the undesirable behavior? Got it. I’m on it. I’m all about changed behavior. I’m there. Just …”

“Go. Thanks.” With a wave of his wing, Jay sent Bizzer towards the feeder.

Bizzer positioned himself on a nearby branch, somewhat below Buster, and waited. He did not need to wait long.

Wham. Bite.

“What the …???” Buster looked around. Nothing there. Leg cramp? Wing cramp? Wow, that was … unpleasant.

He went back to feeding. Another hummingbird drifted into the area, and came to the feeder.

Wham. Bite. “Ouch!”

Quickly looking around … and around … he could see nothing.

Next time a hummingbird arrived, he was not so quick to attack. After a few moments, he could not stand it anymore.

Wham. Bite. “Aaargh!”

He moved away from the feeder, where he could just watch the area. After a bit, he noticed some movement on a branch below the feeder. A fly? A big fly? Coming a little closer, he realized what it was. And it looked very suspicious to him. Horseflies do not stay in one place. They are constantly in motion, constantly flying that low-level reconnaissance, looking for the next bit of juicy flesh.

Was that thing biting him? Was it waiting for him?

He saw Jay and Squawk up in the oak, and flew to them. “Guys, there’s a horsefly down there, and I think he’s been attacking me. Would you watch, and tell me what’s happening?”

“Sure,” they replied, looking at each other and grinning a little.

What was that about? he wondered.

Nervously, he resumed feeding … jumping sideways now and then, nervously.

Meanwhile, Bizzer was watching all this. Proud of his success, he did not realize his continual fidgeting had revealed him to the hummingbird. He puzzled over why Buster would have gone to the bluejays and spoken with them. Just asking if they had seen anything, obviously. So Buster had not seen him, and things were going very well. The hovering hummingbird certainly looked more nervous now, even skittish. This was fun. Wait until he’d been hit about 20 more times. You ain’t seen skittish yet! he thought. I’ll give you a case of skittish!

Another hummingbird arrived. Buster drifted towards him, keeping one eye open for a dive bomber. So far, so good. Nothing yet. He edged closer. The bluejays were watching closely. OK, let’s do it.

Wham! What? The other hummingbird had knocked Buster aside!

“Ouch!” The other hummingbird had gotten bit!

Buster drifted away. He saw an opportunity to learn something. He glanced up at the bluejays. They were talking among themselves, and laughing. They had obviously gotten distracted, and hadn’t seen anything. Fine. He could take care of himself. He would watch.

Eventually another hummingbird came in to the feeder, and Buster saw the whole thing. The bully knocked him away, and was immediately attacked by the horsefly, who then disappeared back to his branch. The bluejays were still absorbed in their conversation.

Buster drifted back to the feeder, but did not approach it. The bully was still feeding, and obviously aggravated by the bites.

“Hey.”

The bully stared at him. “What?”

“Want to know what’s going on?”

The bully narrowed his eyes. “OK, tell me.”

“There’s a horsefly. When you knock someone away, he bites you.”

“You’re kidding.”

“OK. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be waiting.” Buster drifted away to a safe distance. The bully looked around, but couldn’t see anything. Horseflies are pretty easy to spot, if they’re staying in one place, so he decided that was nonsense. Soon another hummingbird came in.

Wham. Bite. Profanity.

“All right, wimp. Where is he? Tell me, or I’ll bust your wing.”

“He’s hiding,” said Buster. “Tell you what. Let’s go to the feeder, and on a signal bump into each other and instantly turn around so we can see him coming. We’ll nail him!”

The bully considered this. Cooperation was not a skill he had learned in hummingbaby school, and he had no interest in looking weak at this point. Allowing someone to bump into him was unthinkable. In fact, even suggesting it was probably unthinkable.

Buster saw this line of thought developing, as he looked in the bully’s eyes, and realized his danger.

“Look, I have a better idea,” he said. “That wouldn’t look realistic. He might not go for it. Tell you what. I’ll be feeding, and you just knock me away, like you did before. Then we’ll both turn on him.”

That made more sense to the bully. It was a plan he could work with. Maybe the only plan his mind could absorb without going into convulsions or a coma. So, they agreed, if you can call it that.

The bully went back to feeding, and Buster drifted away to get up his nerve. Being knocked away again was not something he could easily sign up for. They better be quick, and get this bug. Then he had to figure a way to get the bully to leave as well.

Finally he was ready, and eased back to the feeder. He took a position such that the bug would have the furthest to go, to get back to his hiding place. Shouldn’t be long now, he – wham! OK, spin around, get him!

Suddenly Bizzer found himself ambushed. Two hummingbirds, mad, tracked him back to the branch and pinned him between sharp, fast beaks hovering a wing’s breadth away.

What’s the deal?” said the bully. “You have one chance to tell me something I can believe, or you’ll be a shisk-a-bob.” Buster was beginning to like this guy. He was direct, clear, no nonsense. Knew what he wanted. Maybe Buster could share the feeder with him. Carefully. Oh… maybe he wouldn’t share the feeder. Never mind.

Bizzer’s bravado was gone. Striking from secret was one thing. Wing-to-wing combat with two angry hummingbirds … no, thanks. Those dudes were fast. Those beaks were razor sharp, and longer than a turtle’s memory. The game was up.

“The bluejays hired me to do it. They wanted Buster to quit knocking other birds away, and they thought a little instant feedback would break him of the habit.”

Buster looked up at the bluejays in the tree. The bully followed his gaze. The bluejays realized the game was up, and squawked into flight. Perhaps into the next county.

Buster and the bully looked at the horsefly. Except, he was gone, taking advantage of the moment when they looked away. They looked around, and did not see him anywhere.

“Guess he’s gone,” offered Buster. “Say, you mind if I share the feeder with you? Won’t be in your way.”

The bully considered. His opinion of Buster had risen, when he heard about his earlier behavior. “Been keeping the area clear, huh?”

Buster nodded.

“Alright. You do guard duty, and I’ll let you eat. But you let another goofy hummingbird loiter here, or especially if you let another horsefly bite me, I’ll turn you into a feather soufflé. I’m depressed. I need to be alone.”

And with that uneasy truce, they returned to the feeder. Buster returned to bouncing intruders.

Bizzer drifted away, glad to have escaped any further attention from the hummingbirds. Since he was not paying attention, he did not see the bluejay from the neighbor’s yard come cruising through for an after-dinner treat.