This last week has been for the birds; first the tanager in the greenhouse that I talked about last week, and now a flicker woodpecker. Here’s what happened.
I was bustling about the garden in my usual state of hair straight back not knowing if I found a rope or lost my horse.
As I spun my wheelbarrow around intent on retrieving another load of compost from a pile by the house I was stopped in my tracks by the most amazing sight. There on the grass by the front steps sat a flicker.
And facing him with only six inches between nose and beak was Shoeless the cat. For a second it looked as if they were simply having a casual conversation, perhaps about the merits of bugs versus mice.
As I watched Shoeless began to gather himself for the pounce.
“Noooo,” I screamed, abandoning my wheelbarrow and leaping into the fray.
This was the moment where Shoeless would bolt under the deck and the flicker would fly off into the summer sky.
Startled by my screams, Shoeless did indeed seek refuge below deck.
But the Flicker stayed rooted to the spot as if he had been hypnotized by the cat and couldn’t move.
Making sure the cat was still in hiding I rushed into the porch to grab my trusty faux leather mittens for the second time this summer. When I returned the flicker was still standing there staring blankly into space.
I carefully picked him up and looked him over. His wings seemed fine; nothing broken or hanging.
He must have flown into a window and ended up on the ground dazed and senseless where he was discovered by a delighted — and now disgruntled — Shoeless.
I carefully carried him to the other side of the garden and set him on a poplar stump where he continued to stare blankly into space.
As I worked I carefully kept one eye on the bird and another on the cat.
Oblivious to the whereabouts of his would-be lunch Shoeless came back out from beneath the deck and spent the rest of the afternoon sniffing the spot where the flicker wasn’t and casting me angry glances.
It reminded me of another flicker incident I wrote about a couple years ago when I looked out the kitchen window and spotted a pair of flickers engaged in a mating dance.
As I watched, I noticed something else; the delighted face of Shoeless peering out from behind a clump of grass.
That had ended badly for the cat as well, with me tearing out onto to the deck and scaring away his amorous two-for-one breakfast special just as he was poised to pounce.
I love that cat beyond reason. He is loyal, affectionate and charming as well as being the most beautifully coloured cat I have ever seen.
But I detest the heart of a killer that beats inside. Fortunately he is extremely ineffectual at catching birds and far prefers sunning on the deck or munching on kibble to exerting himself too much.
He does manage to catch the odd mouse—which is the job of a country cat — though I do wish he wouldn’t play with his food before eating it.
The Northern flicker is an interesting woodpecker. Unlike the hairy, downy and even a pair of pileated peckers that have called our forest home, the flicker does not have the dramatic black, white and red markings.
Other than sporting a small yellow scarf splashed with red, he is a mottled brown sort of like a prairie chicken.
They act a bit like a chicken too. While they can drill into trees just like their cousins, flickers also enjoy spending time on the ground scratching through the forest litter for bugs.
Hence the camouflage coat. Another interesting thing about the flicker is that they are among the few birds that migrate by choice rather than for survival.
Some will winter in the north, while others head south.
The flicker slowly gathered his wits about him from his perch on the stump, while Shoeless circled the grass by the deck and I resumed ferrying compost to the garden.
Half an hour later the woodpecker shook his head, spanned his wings and then flew to the top of a power pole. He briefly looked down at the oblivious cat and the smiling gardener and then he flew away.
Shannon McKinnon is a humour columnist from northern B.C. You can catch up on past columns by visiting www.shannonmckinnon.com.