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by D. Cashon Klein
You gotta love a guy who traveled on a
boat named Beagle. But this is not about beagles, boats or Darwin.
This is about finches and transference.
I have a friend whose parents have a
13-year-old finch. We will name him Casanova for the purpose of
this story. I could not get him to sign a release so that I could
use his actual name. He is quite the little man in his bachelor
nest in the back room, overlooking the garden. When you tell him
how pretty he is, I swear he gets a very pleased look in his tiny
eyes and ruffles his feathers in reply. Then he cocks his head and
winks.
It appears that Darwin was on to something
when he decided to study the finches of the Galapagos Islands.
Their behavior is so stunningly human. Or maybe humans are
stunningly finch-like. It was the finches that inspired his
"survival of the fittest" theory. Thus, we can extrapolate this to
the very fit Casanova.
Casanova came to live with my friend's
parents 13 or 14 years ago when they were given five tiny,
newly-hatched finches. We will not go into the sordid details of
why Casanova, and a female we will name Francesca, were the only
two to survive. Suffice it to say it had something to do with
fragility, ceiling fans, walls and unexpected escape. Casanova and
Francesca set about nesting. Or rather, Francesca set about getting
the place cozy and livable while Casanova cracked open a tiny beer
and watched.
She diligently caulked and chinked between
the weave of the wicker nest to make it less drafty. This was a
long, involved process that I think involved chewing and puking
tiny bits of paper... like papier- mache! What woman has not spent
hours over soggy newspaper to construct igloos, planets and
landscapes? Humans have the benefit of scissors, water and flour,
but finches have to be much more organic about the process. Once
the work was complete, they settled into their little finch
routine.
People who remember Francesca remember her
as a bitchy little bird. She was always peeping and pecking at
"poor" Casanova. It seemed she never left him alone. "Typical
female" the human males of the house would knowingly observe.
Still, they were sympathetic when one day Francesca became
egg-bound and died.
Casanova didn't seem to mind one bit.
They decided not to find him a new mate because he seemed... well,
so darned happy. My friend's mother was worried that he may not
like the old nest anymore. She was afraid it would be a sad
reminder of his loss. She bought him a fresh basket but left the
old one in the cage so he'd have a place to sleep while he caulked
and chinked the new one, kind of like living in a trailer while you
work on a new house...
Casanova never touched the new nest. He
never even attempted to work on it. He let the old one become
shabby, while becoming more comfortable in it as the weeks, months
and years went by. Eventually, it became apparent that Casanova was
not going to put forth an effort to renovate the "post-Francesca"
nest, so it was removed.
I had a pair of finches myself years ago,
named Nick and Nora Charles. I hadn't thought of them until the
Casanova story was relayed to me. I now remember that Nora seemed
to be after Nick all the time, until she, too, became egg-bound and
died. Nick lived many years (happily alone) after she died.
There is a term in psychology that
explains the transfer of one's emotions to other people as an
inadvertent vehicle to explain one's own feelings or experiences.
The term is transference. I think transference can be applied to
other life forms as well.
"Francesca was not really a bitch,"
explained my friend's mother. "She did all the work, all the time,
PLUS, she had to lay eggs in between. Casanova just sat around on
the perch and sang. Then he'd crawl into the nest that she did all
the work on, and knock her up AGAIN. It's no wonder she pecked at
him all day! She became so frustrated that she got constipated and
couldn't relax enough to lay more eggs! She was exhausted! That's
why she died...."
In the background we hear the happy
peepings of a spry, little bird who hops from nest to perch and
admires himself in his little mirror. On my refrigerator, I have a
postcard of a handsome man admiring himself in the mirror. The
caption under the picture says, "No matter how cute you are,
somebody out there is sick to death of you."
Finches are like that....
Debbie Cashon Klein is a Safety Harbor
resident.
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