She tried all the apps.
Tweender.
Hatch.
bharmony.
Plenty of Finch.
Chirpr.
And finally got a decent prospect from Wingman.
He was recently widowed. A merlin at Sachuest. It was a sudden and tragic story.
He seemed nice enough.
Polite.
Kept his cooing to a minimum on the first call.
Had his own nest.
And a respectable stash of cracked corn.
All a girl could want.
She arrived early and was genuinely hopeful this might be the one.
Even if there were minor imperfections, she could deal with it.
After all, her mother raised her to be a molder of the male gender.
All she’d need was time.
And patience.
And perhaps a little strategic nagging.
The standard tools of dove courtship.
She was sure of it.
“Where is he?”
She valued punctuality.
In fact, she expected him to arrive early.
She scanned the horizon.
Nothing.
No Charlie.
She was certain he couldn’t confuse this location with another.
“I told him the snag at the Sachuest Point cliff.”
Not a snag.
The snag.
The one every bird on the refuge knew.
The one with the ocean view.
The one with excellent predator visibility.
The one featured in Coastal Living for Birds magazine.
Still.
No Charlie.
Five minutes passed.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Now she was annoyed.
Then worried.
Then annoyed again.
Just as she was about to fly home and update her relationship status to ‘It’s Complicated,’ a laughing gull landed nearby.
“You waiting for Charlie?”
“Yes.”
The gull burst out laughing.
Which, admittedly, is their default setting.
“Oh, this is rich.”
“What?”
“You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
The gull struggled to regain composure.
“Charlie was on his way here. He left early. Had flowers and everything.”
Her heart fluttered.
“Really?”
“Oh yes. Very romantic.”
“What happened?”
The gull pointed inland with his beak.
“Birdwatchers.”
She froze.
Birdwatchers?
The gull nodded.
“Three of them spotted him near the trailhead.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
Apparently Charlie had landed on a picturesque fence post for a quick feather adjustment.
Someone noticed.
Then another.
Then another.
The next thing he knew, twelve photographers were surrounding him carrying lenses the size of canoe paddles.
One photographer whispered,
“Look at the detail in those wing spots.”
Another gasped,
“Magnificent specimen.”
A third muttered,
“I’ve almost got eye contact.”
Charlie panicked.
He spent the next forty minutes posing involuntarily.
Left profile.
Right profile.
Thoughtful profile.
Contemplative profile.
Slightly confused profile.
Then someone tossed millet.
And things completely unraveled.
By the time he escaped, he’d forgotten where he parked himself.
The gull laughed so hard he nearly fell off his perch.
“Last I heard, he was trying to remember whether he was meeting you at the cliff snag, the marsh snag, the driftwood snag, or what he called ‘the really snaggy snag.’“
She sighed.
Typical Charlie.
At that moment a distant shape appeared over the water.
Flying hard.
Straight toward her.
Charlie.
Disheveled.
Out of breath.
A feather sticking up where no feather should stick up.
He landed awkwardly.
“I am SO sorry.”
She stared.
“You got lost?”
“No.”
“You forgot?”
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
Charlie looked toward the trail.
A camera shutter clicked.
Then another.
Then five more.
His eyes widened in terror.
“They found me again.”
And without another word, Charlie launched into the air and disappeared over the horizon.
Leaving her alone.
Again.
She watched him vanish.
Then shook her head.
Some birds simply aren’t ready for commitment.
Or wildlife photographers.
I’d love to share my posts with you. If you subscribe, they’ll come straight to your inbox—most days, like a little note from me to you. It means a lot to know you’re reading along.
Browse my complete art portfolio and shop for prints at imagesbygacioe.shop
Leave a Reply