Testy Tim Titmouse

I sit in my outdoor tub, watching birds come to the feeder. When I'm in a meditative mood, beholding birds is one of the more absorbing activities that I enjoy. There is always an interesting example of bird behavior to observe—and sometimes a taste is offered that appears to be just enough different from the norm that it captures my imagination and causes my speculative mental juices to flow.

Tonight I'm witnessing a group of half a dozen tufted titmice visiting the feeder—swooping down more or less together, grabbing sunflower seeds and then flying off more or less together into the evening air. In a few minutes they return and resume feeding. They pay each other little attention, except for the fact that they hang with one another in this loosely-defined flock. It's safer for them, as many eyes do better at spotting threats than do just two.

Then there's the oddball in this small flock, whom I will call Testy Tim. He seems more interested in his fellow group members, than the seeds. He suddenly attacks another titmouse—excreting a squeaky, threatening shout that drives the other bird off. At random moments Tim aggressively charges another compatriot, chasing it away.

What is going on here? Tim's behavior, it seems to me, is untimely. Such belligerent conduct in early spring—when territory and breeding pairs are being established—is normal. But not this time of summer. Mates have been selected long ago and most offspring bred; now it's time to mellow out in the summer's heat. But not Testy Tim.

What's got Tim's goat? Why is he acting so pugnacious? Did he just get jilted by his lady? Is this a temporary affliction? Did something just happen that's got his testosterone flowing? Did he just pick a fight with a bird who was superior to him on the pecking order, and he won—with his success now surging through his veins like piss and vinegar? Or might he be a recent fledgling—and like an overconfident teenager, is engaging in foolish behavior, inviting an older, more worldly bird to put him in his place?

Tim is asking for his comeuppance, I'm thinking. He's the single belligerent bird in this harmonious group; the others may decide to gang up retaliate at any moment. They seem uninterested in facing Tim down, however. Maybe it's just too much of an effort in the hot evening sun, to deal with his attacks? Maybe Tim will soon get it out of his system and calm down?

The titmice once again fly off in their group—with Testy Tom trailing behind. Things quiet down. In a few moments I hear a titmouse ferociously scolding. Could it be an elder who is chewing out Tim—advising him to chill out? Has Tim's juvenile behavior earned him a well-deserved dressing down?

I don't see any more titmice, as dusk settles in and quiet prevails. Did Tim finally calm down? Did the others just head for bed, hoping that tomorrow will be a more agreeable day? I'm left alone with my musings, to create my stories.