Mockingbirds love our yard. They spend entire spring days here, singing to me as I garden. They nest here, raising their babies and dive bombing the dog if she gets too close. I’ve watched dozens of these sassy birds over the years, but I’ve never seen anything like the mockingbird who is spending this winter here.
He flies in to meet me at the compost pile every day, and by the time I’ve emptied the bucket and turned around, he’s in there rummaging around for fresh tidbits. Where does he come from, and how does he know when to meet me there? Does he hear my feet crunching the snow on the long walk back there? Is he watching the house all day, just waiting for me to head to the back? It’s a mystery so far, but I’m on the case.