The silliest birds in the world

Egrets are, in my opinion, the silliest birds in the world. Daily a flock of up to 70 arrive outside my window. They use the back yard as the Danja Egret Convenience. It's disgusting. There is a large tree and, attached to the other half of this house, a pergola. These birds of the bush arrive every day about 1-1:30pm and again just before dark. The splat, splish, splash sounds indicate their arrival. Another airborne coat of whitewash is applied to all around.

These birds are frail and completely white in their plumage. They remind me of the Xray women Tom Wolfe describes in his book 'Bonfire of the Vanities'. They have the deportment of overdressed women in their late fifties who have starved themselves half to death in an effort to outclass the younger, leaner women who prove such a temptation to the men in their lives. The legs of these birds are dangerously matchstick like. When the wind catches their feathers you notice that there isn't much meat on the carcass - just like the Xray women!

What causes them to qualify for the award of silliest bird is not their looks nor toilet habits (a different award would be needed for that). No, they deserve the award for their drinking habits.

Under the tree and a few feet removed from it - just as well or you never know what you'd be drinking - is a stone jar filled with water. When the birds arrive, as they have in the past few minutes, six or seven will gather round the jar. There will then follow a stand off while they take the measure of each other to see who will dare to go to the jar and drink first. Watching them is like watching some kind of well rehearsed comic clown routine. A few steps forward, nervous glances from side to side and then a minor retreat, if not on foot then by pulling back their scrawny necks a few inches. By some miracle or other they will make it close enough to the jar, or two of them will, so that it will be possible to take a drink. But can they dare? What will happen as they dip their beaks into the jar? Answer: one of the other egrets will come from the rear, or the side, and peck at their neck or backside.

They seem to work on the principle that "if I'm not drinking at this moment in time I'm damned if I'm going to let you drink." Each drink is a quick peck at the water and the head withdraws again quickly as the nervous eyes try to keep the other half dozen within view. Each day one bird manages to position itself in such a way that, with an almost feline movement, it raises itself above the others and perches on the edge of the stone jar. This is the prized position. Only the stout-hearted will make 'the move'. However, the reward for making 'the move' is both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand it now has a much better sight of the rest and can keep an eye on them while at the same time lowering its scraggy neck to drink the water. On the other hand it is now doubly hated by the rest and particularly vulnerable to sneak attacks from the rear, from behind and below actually.

The stand off will continue at ground level among the rest. The exercise of straining the neck to chance a quick snap at the water goes on but the stakes are higher now, for not only do you have those beside it still working on the "damned if I'm going to let you drink" principle, you now have Braveheart perched on the rim of the jar beautifully poised to get you on the back of the neck as you take that sneak beakful of water. Eventually someone will challenge Braveheart and will succeed in making themselves, or someone else more nimble than they, the new Braveheart. So it goes on.

I wonder if it would be possible to teach egrets how to queue and take turns? Nah, I doubt it. Anyone who starves themselves like this and thinks it looks attractive has big psychological problems. I don't see them coping with the concept of mutual consideration. These desperately insecure birds know only competition, silly birds.

To next part.
To journal from Niger.