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ers don’t have complex and extended songs such as cardinals and robins; none weave intricate notes into lengthy serenades like the mockingbird.
The flycatchers are a complaining, testy and announcement-prone lot. My mother would have called them “mouthy.” That borders on the outer range of anthropomorphism. Yet, it pleases me to make the observation for I find this small family of birds intriguing.
Possibly the phoebe — the Eastern Phoebe —• is the most well known flycatcher for the female builds her mud and moss nest under bridges, in sheds, and under porches. Home owners know when a phoebe is nesting on the premises because the male constantly flips his tail and calls phoebe, phoebe. This graybrown bird, the size of a sparrow, sounds as if exasperated and about at < he end of patience. The little bird seems to say: “Where are you, Phoebe? Why don’t you come when I call?”
Though smaller, the wood pewee looks much like a
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