“I can’t be sure. I don’t want to cheat.”

My current mate may be a little scattered, easily distracted by squirrels, but she’s a stickler when it comes to integrity. No one in our crowd would ever know if she added a sketchy sighting, but she would, and she couldn’t live under a cloud of suspicion, even one of her own making. So she removed the Blue-Booted Boob from her list.

“You’re being silly,” I chirped. “You saw that telltale flash of azure . . .”

“Cobalt.”

“Whatever. What else could it have been but a boob in this habitat? Besides, life lists are personal—you don’t have to share them.”

She looked away, disappointed in my lack of support for her principled stand. I reminded her that we were seasonal bonders, that her partner next spring almost certainly wouldn’t know about her list, but Ava refused to live a lie.

“Look!” I said. “While you’re getting all spun up over nothing, you’re missing a new arrival! As well as breakfast!”

That got her attention. Walking across the lawn carrying a hopper full of seed matter was a spectacular Great-Breasted Hausfrau, identifiable by its distinctive open bathrobe.

“Already on my list,” Ava sniffed. “And the hausfrau leaves behind only milo or red millet—filler seeds. I’m accustomed to black-oil-sunflower seeds.”

That last bit ruffled my crest. It was true that Ava was way above my station, raised as I was in the trunk of an abandoned car on a steady diet of grubs. Protein aside, larvae are gross, and I envied Ava her pampered upbringing as a fledging in a stately barn.

The hausfrau must have heard our chattering, because she peered up into our leafy blind. Ava and I froze. She tried to make us out, but stillness is our strong suit, so she finally turned away. At that moment, we heard the slam of a screen door, and a magnificent Potbellied Galoot heaved into view.

Ava gasped. The galoot had long been on her life list, but the field markings on this particular specimen left her stunned. The molting hairline, the salt-and-pepper stippling around its mandible, the drooping cargo flaps, the cryptic letterforms on his heather-gray chest (“Ask your mother”)— who knew the galoot could present such a stylish display?

Things were looking up. Ava forgot all about the boob that she may or may not have seen, and fluttered down to my branch. Within moments, we were planning the rest of our day.

“How about that rectangular patchwork of lawns we flew over on our way back from wintering?” she tweeted. “It was teeming with life.”

I’d never heard Ava use the word “teeming” before, so my curiosity was piqued.

“Lead the way,” I replied, and off we flew to the rectangular patchwork of lawns. It was easily recognizable by the flocks of pigeons that such habitats attract, but it was, of course, the bipeds that made the trip worthwhile. We picked a statue with good sight lines and floated down to watch the show.

We had a field day, Ava and I. Every variety imaginable seemed to be out and about enjoying the spring weather. Ava must have added a dozen sightings to her life list, each more impressive than the last. There was the Crested Creative, resplendent with its wax-sculpted tuft of hair; the Full-Throated Jessica, known for its signature cry (“lemme-speak-to-your-manager-ger-ger”); and the Urban Puffer Vest, once native to the Northwest and now seemingly everywhere.

Ava had a laugh on spotting the last of these. Earlier this spring, we had feathered our nest with the down from a discarded puffer vest, and such is its softness and loft that all our chicks have refused to leave home! Hilarious.

After a while, we lost the self-consciousness of the tourists we were and glided down to the park benches, where a bonded pair of Metropolitan Mensches were distributing popcorn to the pigeons. No one seemed to mind our presence, so while I happily pecked away in the dirt Ava watched the passing parade for new additions to her life list. Among them, she later reported with throaty excitement, were the Flat-Footed Thugcatcher, the gossipy Common Nanny, and the swanning Lesser Hipster, with its distinctive slim-cut silhouette.

Later that evening, when we returned to the nest, the chicks were gone.

It couldn’t have been a better day. ♦