Squawk Talk
Dear Rustic Rex,
My grandmother is a bird watcher.
Multiple feeders fill the trees in her yard.
She was telling me that male cardinals will use their beak to tap at a female’s beak to determine if she’ll be a good mother.
My question is this: how do they really know what birds are thinking? It’s tough enough to know what other people are thinking!
This seems like just guesses in the dark. We don’t know what birds are thinking.
Signed,
Hashing Out Ornithological Topics
Dear HOOT,
A male bird chewing seeds and giving them to a female? That is a courting ritual.
At least that’s what my research shows.
But I’ll gladly defer to your bird-watching grandmother!
How do scientists know things?
Careful observations. Rigorous studies. Employing the Scientific Method.
Imperfect but always seeking.
As to the second question: what are other people thinking?
That is a much more challenging proposition.
And one of the functions of the arts!
Understanding the human condition. Unfolding our contradictions and connections and conundrums.
Fantastic scenes that explore common truths.
Music or drama or movies or the circus.
We can’t completely know what other people are thinking.
Maybe we’re all just searching for clues.
I hope your grandmother’s birds are flying high and doing well.
Counterpoint commentary by …
Shandoleesa, Mistress of the Trapeze
I do not know much about zoology or ornithology.
What I know about animals was learned from my grandfather.
I grew up on his farm in Campos de Júlio. We were poor, and he told us stories at night for entertainment.
My favorite was called The Frivolous Ox.
An old man had some oxen, and after feeding them one night, an ox watched as he ate paçoca. Bars of crushed peanuts with honey.
The man threw him a piece and the ox liked it.
The next evening found the same scene play out. The man was surprised by an odd happiness.
Every night, after dinner, that ox came over, and its caretaker always shared candy.
Trips into town now included loading a basket full of confections. At night he and the ox tried the latest treats and flavors.
Until the day when the man’s wife helped him review the yearly ledger.
“What?” she howled. “I haven’t dined finer than Paz’s Grill in 10 years! And you spend this on a beast.”
Shamed, the man stopped buying candy. Things had changed.
Soon, the ox stopped eating at all.
This protest did not relent. The ox grew thinner and weaker but still ate no food.
It fell on its side, too weak to stand. The man jumped into the pen, crying, and made a buffet with all the candy he could find.
The animal’s tongue slunk out gently, slowly, and took a piece. Another. And then another.
Unable to stand, it soon sucked up all the candy from the dirt.
Then it coughed and shuddered, looked up at the farmer, and dropped dead right before his eyes.
The end.
I do not know why it was my favorite story.
But I asked him to tell it to me again and again.
