And our mockingbird is back. Sure, this is an assumption, but either way, every year we end up with a mockingbird staking out our house for his shenanigans.

This year our world is dominated by a portly gentleman of the world. His tail's longer by far than those of his neighbors, this loud crew moving in to claim our neighborhood.

One of my favorite things about the little boogers is their call practice. He'll sit on the peak or a handy vent pipe, and work through his repertoire. A whistle, a croak, a grinding little whisper, each in turn as he warms up to the day's gig.

The reason I believe it's the same one for the past few years running is that he's got a very particular whistle that is guaranteed to set our nervous nelly of a lab off. He'll make his way along the bits of song, and then he'll whistle that particular call. She'll go mad barking for a few minutes, settle down to listen to him.

And then he'll do it again.

I don't think he pays all that much attention to her and her outrage; mostly he's worried about the other mockingbirds, and the hawks. But when all else fails, when there are no other interesting games to play...

He can always get a little noise going by playing his whistle and setting the dog aloud.