Life of a Hummingbird
Part X: Rufus is forced to defend his columbines
The hummingbird shuffled sideways along the branch, craning his neck forward to get a better view. Periodically he tilted his head, first to one side, then to the other as he tried to size up the newest intruder. He’d gone through this so many times this season. The perch was polished smooth by the time he spent there, always alert and tracking every movement in the clearing below. This branch was only one of his many lookouts, but by far the best in the early mornings. It was high, but still well protected by an overhanging bough. Best of all, there was an oddly twisted and widened branch not far below, an ideal spot to spread out and bask in the early morning sun and warm up to flying temperature quickly.
Even though it was only 8:00 am, he had already fed for a long time at the columbines on the west side of the clearing, nabbed a few choice morsels from the spiders’ new webs, including one of the spiders, and seen off a flock of confused warblers that were just passing through. He’d even clashed with the kingbird, buzzed the resident robins and chipping sparrows several times for good measure. It had been busy, even for him. It was never easy being a hummingbird, especially a male in the springtime.
The Intruder
By now, he could see this new intruder was different. The red flash of its throat identified it as one of his own kind and a male at that—always a problem. His first pass at this new bird had sent it scurrying into the bushes, but now it was back and beginning to feed at the columbines—his columbines.
This time there would be no half measures. He dropped off the perch into a full power dive, zipping across the clearing at nearly twice his normal speed. Traveling at nearly forty miles per hour, he swept straight at the back of the oblivious intruder who was now busy hovering below the columbine flowers. Only at the last possible second did the hummingbird pull upwards. In the exact moment he was behind the thief he flashed his tail open wide for a fraction of a second, just long enough for the two stiff short outer feathers to vibrate sharply. As the air rushed across them, it made a loud squawk.
The other bird was so startled by the chirp and the powerful blast of air, it spun sideways, and for a moment actually touched the ground tangled up in the columbine stalks. But this wasn’t a startled, roving warbler, this bird turned to face his tormentor. The two males rushed at each other, squeaking indignation, hovering face to face as they sized each other up. They flashed their tails open, displayed bright red throats, chirping at each other the whole while. The resident male climbed straight up into the air, then down. The intruder faced him and matched his every move. They rushed each other, butting chests, grappling with tiny feet, even trying to jab with long beaks. This miniature duel went on for thirty seconds as the two struggled for possession of the columbines and their nectar. Finally, the resident was able to back the intruder into the willows and force him to turn.
Now the fight became a chase.