210 HOMING WITH THE BIRDS 



I could call a goldfinch. I was washing negatives 

 in the kitchen sink. The back door was open. In 

 the backyard grew a forest of sunflowers for the 

 parrot's winter food, and over them the goldfinches 

 hovered constantly. As I worked, I kept repeating 

 the goldfinch call to perfect myself in it. 



I did my very best, and to my astonishment, 

 from the yard came a male goldfinch's answer, 

 "P'tsee me?" Instantly I changed to the female 

 cry, "P'tseet!" The goldfinch answered from the 

 sweet pea rack. I hid behind the door, and 

 watched through the crack. 



"P'tsee me?" 



"P'tseet!" 



The goldfinch was on the walk. 



"P'tsee me?" 



"P'tseet!" 



The goldfinch was on the paper barrel beside 

 the steps. 



P'tsee me?" 

 P'tseet!" 



The goldfinch was on the back porch. 



"P'tsee me?" 



"P'tseet!" 



The goldfinch was at the screen door, hopping 

 back and forth to find an entrance, and had the 

 door been open undoubtedly I could have called 

 him inside. Since then I talk with these birds when- 

 ever I choose, having ample opportunity; for they 

 are always with us from June until November. 



"P'l 



