Way back wren (Troglodytes troglodytes) I was in middle school, before I became a myna (Acridotheres tristis) sexual celebrity in my small town, I did stints (Calidris minuta) as a park creeper (Certhia americana). That is, from a bench every Sunday afternoon I’d watch the pretty chickadees (Poecile atricapillus) walk by in their church dresses, then I’d rush (Juncus effusus) home and palm thrush (Chichladusa arquata) my redpoll (Acanthis flammea) until I was so sora (Porzana carolina) I could barely walk.
My two best budgies (Melopsittacus undulatus), Jay (Cyanocitta cristata) Finch (Haemorhous mexicanus) and Martin (Progne subis) Guillemot (Cepphus grille) choked their chickens (Gallus domesticus) as frequently as I did. Of course, as young voyeurs, we’d chat (Icteria virens) endlessly about just when our tern (Sterna hurundo) to rail (Rallus elegans) some coot (Fulica americana) would come.
After several jacky-winters (Microeca fascinans), we grew into full-fledged tanagers (Tangara inornate) with powerful woodpeckers (Campephilus pollens) ready to smew (Mergellus albellus). Our singular hobby (Falco subbuteo) became chasing teal (Anas discors), so we called ourselves Los Horneros (Furnarius leucopus). When the hispanic school janitor, Mr. Perdiz (Partridge: Perdix perdix), told us our Spanish name didn’t mean what we thought it did, we rebranded to the Hardheads (Aythya australis) and set about getting our timberdoodles (Scolopax minor) wet.
Owl (Bubo virginianus) say this, competition was cut-throat (Amadina fasciata) between us and our rivals, the Jaegers (Stercorarius parasiticus). Those unscrupulous vultures (Aegypius monachus) reckoned themselves the cocks-of-the-rock (Rupicola peruvianus). We were always wary of those bustards (Otis tarda), because they respected no boundaries.
Among us three, however, we adhered to a strict code to knot (Calidris tenuirostris) snipe (Gallinago gallinago) each other’s gulls (Larus canus). We had veery (Catharus fuscescens) different tastes in plovers (Hoploxypterus cayanus), anyway, so the cardinal (Cardinalis cardinalis) sin of “bush-robin” (Tarsiger hyperythrus) was never an issue.
For instance, Jay was the “Tit-Babbler” (Mixornis gularis), keen on big boobies (Sula leucogaster) and noddy (Anous minutus) bits as smooth as a manakin’s (Ceratopipra mentalis). His lovebird (Agapornis roseicollis) was Elaenia (Elaenia frantzii) Dowitcher (Limnodromus griseus), a redhead (Aythya americana) screamer (Chauna chavaria) with great tits (Parus major) who liked it ruff (Calidris pugnax). Her whydah (Vidua macroura) hips imparted a wagtail (Motacilla alba) gait that was cutia (Cutia nipalensis) than you can imagine. She lived carefree and without egret (Arda alba) and was always swift (Apus apus) with a lark (Eremophila alpestris). The silly goose’s (Branta canadensis) courser (Cursorius coromandelicus), grouse (Canachites canadensis) humor made us grackle (Quiscalus quiscula) like loons (Gavia immer).
In stork (Ciconia cionia) contrast, Martin had the nickname “Bush Tyrant” (Myiotheretes fuscorufus), because he liked the so-called thicketbirds (Trichocichla rufa). His starling (Sturnus vulgaris) had raven (Corvus corax) heron (Ardea herodias) her plushcrown (Metopothrix aurantiaca). The coquette (Lophornis helenae) Phoebe (Sayornis phoebe) Bunting (Calamospiza melanocorys) had small, perky velvetbreasts (Lafresnaya lafresnayi), the lithe figure of a woodnymph (Thalurania colombica), and a vanga (Schetba rufa) harrier (Circus hudsonius) than a shag (Gulosus aristotelis) carpet. She was as brilliant (Heliodoxa jacula) as a rhea (Rhea americana) sunshine, with the singing voice of a nightingale (Luscinia megarhynchos). She was the best of us, certainly more than we chiffchaff (Phylloscopus sindianus) deserved.
All the words in bold are common bird names with their scientific nomenclature in parentheses. Some jokes are based more on spelling than pronunciation, while others rely on how they sound similar to other words. Either way, they are all equally lame. Some obscure references are hornero, which derives from the Spanish word for “oven” due to the chambered nests the species builds. A lark, in addition to being a ground-dwelling songbird, also means to frolic, joke or prank.
