No, it was not some exotic species that a guide peripherally pointed out while really focused on the large tawny cat, with intense eyes, approaching the vehicle. No, it was not a first glorious day of spring when I looked out my window to see the feathered harbingers eager to get on with the business of life. No, it was not that night in Minnesota, listening to the wolves’ howls, when a deep, resonant “hoot-hoot” interrupted the party.

The spark arrived in my home, in New York City, when I was five years old. Dad walked through the door and handed me a Chinese take-out carton that had scratching sounds coming from it. When he set it on the kitchen table, the carton moved—and I was mesmerized. Dad, with a grin on his face, slowly opened up the carton, and out popped an ordinary yellow parakeet, Melopsittacus undulatus, with red eyes, that we affectionately named Fritzie.

Fritzie was always a special bird, and I hated to keep him in a cage, if indeed it was a him because we never did find out. So the cage was left open, and Fritzie would always be close to me, either on my shoulder, next to me, or once, when I was very sick, huddled by my neck while I was in bed for several days. I came to understand that Fritzie was not an it, or even a pet, but a living, intelligent creature that looked a lot different from people. I would confide in Fritzie, stroke his head, and scratch his cheeks. He would repay the grooming by nibbling my hair. Fritzie was my best friend.

When Dad saw how well we got along, he started to talk to me about birds. The consummate nature-lover that he was, this was followed by walks in Central Park, the Botanical Gardens, or the forests of New England during vacations, where he talked about birds.

An estimated 200 different species of birds are identified in Central Park every year, and overall 303 species have been seen there since official records began to be published. What a terrific place for a father-daughter outing!

Mostly, Dad talked about the birds he knew back in Germany as he never really learned these New World bird names until later in life. He was not a birder in the sense that we know it, yet he nonetheless appreciated their beauty, intelligence, and complexity. I would hold his hand as we walked through the woods, slowly, intently, just listening for a sweet melody or chip to pierce the dark silence. Crunching on the pine needles as we walked reminded Dad of his home in the Black Forest, and the stories of birds and animals kept flowing in a rhythm of love—along with the occasional story of trolls or witches.

And so, it was Fritzie, my spark bird, who awakened my curiosity about feathered creatures, indeed all the creatures around me. Little, sweet Fritzie, the budgie, my first real teacher.

For information about ethical sourcing of a pet bird and things to consider before purchasing one, click here.

Barbara Beck, Richland Township Bird Town Leader

Photo credits:

Central Park, unknown artist, public domain.

Yellow budgie (adapted), by RandomUploader567, licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0