The Tenacious Hummingbird

There is a feeder outside of my window where I have observed several hummingbirds vying for exclusive rights to the sweet nectar. One will stop to feed and another will show up to challenge its territory. Sometimes they dance around, using the feeder as a barrier between them until one speeds off, closely followed by the second who feels that the feeder is his and his alone. But many times the attacks are so swift and fierce that invariably one of the birds, in their attempt to either spear or avoid being speared, crashes blindly into the window with a resounding thud. The stunned bird usually immediately flies off, a bit sillier in the head for his trouble, probably wondering what that thing was that just blindsided him. But sometimes, like yesterday, the crash is more violent, and the recovery is slow.

I heard the thud, louder than usual, and looked up expecting to see a bird zooming off into the trees, but instead caught a glimpse as it dropped towards the porch. I opened the door to find her on the concrete, and as our eyes locked, she slowly (for a hummingbird) rose in flight, struggling to attain the gutter along the roof. She sat there for a few moments and finally flew off, fully recovered. I wondered if she would just give up on the feeder and find another food source, but a few minutes later she was back, battling with a second hummingbird over food rights. Again, she smashed into the picture window, but this time she hit a section of screening and stuck there as if it were Velcro. Her upturned head and splayed wings pressing against the screen were reminiscent of the way Wile E. Coyote used to fail miserably while trying to catch the Roadrunner, ultimately ending up in a pancaked heap on the ground. I opened the window and nudged at her feet, thinking that maybe her tiny bird claws had become entangled in the screen. She slowly moved first one claw, and then the other, but continued to cling to the screen, recovering from the jolt of the unforeseen crash. She finally flew off, but was back again a few minutes later, again fighting over the feeder. This time when she hit the window, she immediately dropped towards the porch, and I ran to see what had happened. She was on the concrete, lying on her side, unmoving. She’d had a rough day, and this final blindside may have been her undoing. As I moved the porch chair to have a better look, she suddenly gathered herself and flew off into the trees.

The war dance over the feeder didn’t end with her near-demise, but continued through the evening. Sometimes she was able to steal a sip or two before tearing off again, another hummingbird on her tail. Occasionally I would hear a thud and look to see both birds flying towards the trees. I couldn’t help but admire this bird’s tenacity that bordered on obsession. It made me think about how easily I allow myself to give up when the going gets tough, or I get blindsided by unforeseen obstacles. I tend to move off, licking my wounds, deciding that the prize I hoped to attain wasn’t worth all the trouble. But maybe, if I tried just one more time, knowing that the possibility of failure still existed, but deciding to push forward just the same, I might—just might—be rewarded with a taste of sweet nectar.