Making friends with a bird in Cayucos

August 25, 2025

Editor’s Note: The following series, “Life in Radically Gentrifying Cayucos by the Sea,” to be posted biweekly includes the notes, thoughts, and opinions of an original American voice: author Dell Franklin. 

Franklin’s memoir, “The ballplayer’s Son” and “Life on The Mississippi, 1969” are currently on Amazon.

As an octogenarian, I have a few friends left these days, but no bird friends. I’ve known a few people who’ve had bird friends. I’m not sure they are necessarily birders. I was at a large memorial a few months back and was sitting beside a middle aged guy who had a gorgeous colorful bird on his shoulder. I told him the bird was beautiful.

He said, “Tell him that.”

I did. Next thing, the bird was on my shoulder. I could feel his claws digging in slightly. He moved around a bit. I didn’t know what to do. I have no experience with birds. I am one of those people who unfortunately has not paid enough attention to birds, while probably paying too much attention to a bunch of tripe that means absolutely nothing compared to observing and studying and actually having a relationship with birds.

But now I have met a bird and I think I’m making a friend. I have two go-to friends down south with whom I discuss everything, and I can’t wait to talk to them about this bird that has gone out of its way to hang out with me. This bird is very good company and expects little of me, just wants to piddle about in my vicinity and occasionally take root and check me out.

Have I bribed it with treats? Not yet. If I feel this bird is losing interest in me, I will definitely break out the peanuts I keep in my car for nourishment when I’m playing tennis and feel myself fading from lack of salt. Does this bird realize I have food nearby? I don’t know.

My friend Woody, back in Missouri, has two bird feeders perched very high in his spacious yard, and all kinds of birds of various colors zing around while squirrels and rabbits chomp up what hits the ground. It is magnificent to observe. Small animals sharing, non aggressive, just trying to survive and get along.

This Woody guy, who grew up on a farm, knows a lot about birds. As a city boy, I should have listened to him when he talked about birds, because I know nothing, and still don’t, though I think I am learning from my new bird friend, even if our friendship has only developed this past week.

There is this area in the northern stretches of Cayucos, a sort of small pocket, that serves as a bird sanctuary. This is a place beside a fence bordering a cliff facing the ocean where I like to park afternoons and just read. It is a relaxing place, and often, especially on weekends, birders drive up to observe the birds.

I have never known any birders. I am a lunkhead jock and never been interested in befriending birders, and I should be, because they seem to be the only people in America who dress as bad, if not worse, than I do.

They do not wear skinny jeans, be they male or female. No, they wear clothes that never match, drape upon them like heavy bags with multiple pockets, and then there are the hats and caps forking out in various directions.

They bring out binoculars and sometimes tripods and cameras and books, and share in their excitement at the sight of birds, and it occurs to me they are involved in a passion I have missed all my life.

I wonder also how great it might be for two birders being in a union and discovering a rare bird together. It might be better than sex. They will never be bored with each other, because birds are fascinating

And I never realized this until I met my bird friend.

This occurred two days ago. I was sitting in my usual spot, seat back, reading “Hotel Honolulu” by Paul Theroux, when suddenly a bird was thrashing and zipping around in my car. I felt like the lady in the attic in the movie “The Birds,” who was being attacked. But I quickly calmed down and eased down the side of the front seat passenger window and the bird flew out.

I felt bad about this. I didn’t want to hurt the bird’s feelings. I have had dogs and cats all my life and been more caring and sensitive toward them than people. Besides, I wanted this bird to like me.

I’m a person who spends too much time alone reading and daydreaming, and need some measure of companionship and socializing that has more meaning than getting drunk in Schooner’s Wharf with local degenerates like myself.

Anyway, I lowered the window and gazed about for the bird. Five minutes later, it settled on top of the passenger door beside the half raised window and looked me over. Then it looked the car over, realizing there is a lot of shit everywhere, including books, magazines, newspapers, crossword puzzles, grocery bags, dog treat container, a half-gnawed power bar, and general rubble. I felt a bird would feel more comfortable in a car that wasn’t spotless, nor reeked of extreme hygienic sanitation.

The bird turned and settled on my side mirror, which is encased in white plastic tubing. The bird’s head pecked and jerked around, then it got back on the door ledge and began pecking at the white tubing of the side mirror, creating a racket, making itself at home, and I told it to stop and it flew out and perched on the metal fence for a minute or two before returning to the side mirror.

It was obvious that this bird liked the side mirror. Then it returned to the door and faced me. It is a small bird with blue feathers and a blue head. A pretty bird. Not very big. I have no idea what kind of bird it is except it is a blue bird, and I’m sure if I described it to a birder, they would quickly inform me with great pride and glee just what the bird’s official name is.

But I studied the bird—so light as to be almost weightless, seemingly fragile, yet sleek and so dynamic in is ability to explode in a flush of feathers, soar and glide.

The bird continued to hang out, going back and forth between the mirror and door. I began reading again. I read for quite a while. The bird continued hanging out. I was long past ready to leave, but there was no way I was leaving while the bird was hanging out with me, because, like I’ve said, I did not want to upset this bird and sought to make friends.

Finally, the bird took off, circling far above my view, and started for some unknown area. I drove home. Next afternoon, at just about the usual time, I parked and read and hoped the bird would return. I already missed the bird.

Ten minutes later, the bird swooped down and alighted on my side mirror. I quickly hit the button and had the window all the way down. The bird began pecking on the casing of the mirror. I told it to stop. It moved to the door and checked out the car, and then checked me out.

“Hello bird,” I said.

For the next hour the bird hung out with me. I didn’t leave until it had had enough of me and flew off.