Our backyard, Williamsburg, Brooklyn
Visiting our window feeder all March, we have had a flock-lette of house finches. The females are brown, with pretty speckled markings and lovely beak-y beaks. The males are similar, except they have been dipped by their feet into raspberry sauce: their faces, upper breasts and even sometimes their backs are red, which can look iridescent in the sunlight. They seem always to be in pairs and they have gotten increasingly bold as they have gotten used to the cat, who lunges at them behind the window glass and me, who tries to stand very still and watch them. (I sometimes suspect they tolerate me because they recognize the hand that feeds them.) They continue to flee at the sight of Augustine, who comes at the window like a three-year-old tsunami.
Also have seen (and heard, as I am definitely getting better at vocal identification) a pair of cardinals, the ever-present doves and a couple of small-ish mocking birds, those these seem to prefer the suet feeder a few yards over from ours. Happily, the sparrows, starling and (shudder) pigeons are still staying away.
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