For many years, I was what most people would consider “outdoorsy” — I camped frequently, I hiked a lot, I spent a lot of time in nature. While I still occasionally do those things, outdoorsy for me these days is mostly sitting on my patio and watching the local fauna.

I live in the middle of town, but even so there’s a surprising amount of wildlife to be seen. There are squirrels, of course, plus stray cats and jumping spiders — and then there are birds.

So. Many. Birds.

I’ve never been a huge fan of birds thanks to the childhood trauma of getting repeatedly dive-bombed by a duck at Fuddruckers. This spring, however, I decided it was time to make my peace with them.

Shortly after I put out the first bird feeder, I noticed chickadees nesting in a birdhouse I’d put up a couple years back purely because I thought it looked cute and not because I thought any birds would ever actually live in it. But there they were.

Then, one day in mid-June, my dog Felix became curious about something in the yard. I walked over to check it out and discovered the tiniest baby bird — the fledgling that had been growing up in my birdhouse.

This was my first experience with a fledgling, so I’m not sure how they’re supposed to act, but this little guy was acting drunk — and not in the way that toddlers who are learning to walk sort of look like grownups who have had a few too many adult beverages. More so in the way that means something is seriously wrong.

The day was unseasonably hot, and it seemed like the unbearable heat was affecting him. I checked on him throughout the day and left water out, but the next morning he was gone.

A week later, I let Felix outside and I noticed a crow flapping around among my tomato plants. At first, I tried to shoo him away, but I quickly realized — with help from the watchful crows aggressively squawking at me from the nearby trees — that this bird, too, was just a fledgling. He was too young to fly, all ruffled feathers and a cranky but determined teenage attitude.

The first day, he — I named him Francis — mostly stuck to the back of the yard, hopping up on a small boulder and gliding squarely into my shed. Over and over again. After a few of these tries, he’d sulk in the corner for a bit while one of the adult birds aggressively cawed at him to get a move on.

On day two, Francis began exploring the yard more. In fact, his favorite place to be was sitting and defecating on my patio couch.

That day, there were a few other developments. Another fledgling — who I named Philip — came by. He was a bit farther along in the process of learning to fly and could get to the top of the fence. Francis would yell up at Philip like, “Hey, bro. Can you teach me to do that?” And Philip would yell back something I imagine was similar to “I don’t know how to do it, bro. I just did.” And so on and so forth. Even the squirrels got invested in this drama.

On day three, I had to water the lawn and I was afraid it would make the (ever-vigilant and loud) adult crows mad, but instead something completely different happened — Francis and Philip were playing in the sprinkler. Philip went first, going directly up to the sprinkler itself and giving himself a long shower. Then he went back to encourage Francis, who was at the edge of where the water was falling. It took about an hour, but he eventually worked up the courage and did the same thing.

This was the end of Francis Watch 2021 because I had to leave town for a couple days. When I returned home, I saw two crows up on the power line who looked like they hadn’t quite gotten the hang of flying, still a little wobbly and unsure. There’s no way to be positive, but in my heart, they were Philip and Francis.

During all this fledgling drama, there were other birds discovering the, by now, three bird feeders. By mid-summer it had reached a point of absurdity. Dozens of feathered friends — mostly finches but also chickadees, robins, the occasional hummingbird and woodpecker, and, ugh, pigeons — now spend their days gorging themselves on the food I provide. In the evenings, right before sunset, there are 30 to 40 birds in my yard getting their fill before bedtime.

It’s truly shocking I haven’t been pooped on yet.

In a poetic end to all this, I saw the circle of life completed a couple weeks ago.

I heard a loud thump against the back of the house and went outside to check it out. Then I screamed. There was a pigeon lying — dead — on the porch.

While I’m pretty sure that fledgling chickadee had died earlier in the year, this was the first time I had been confronted face-to-face with death of the feathered variety.

I despise pigeons. They’re messy. I hate how they coo. I hate how they sound when they fly. They’re extremely high on my disgust meter. By now I’ve let go of my grudge against birds in general, including dive-bombing ducks, but I cannot let go of my grudge against pigeons.

I couldn’t deal with it. I was going to puke.

Thankfully I have a friend who isn’t fazed by much. I texted her in a panic. A couple minutes later she was at my house giving the bird an unceremonious burial in the garbage bin.

I had no idea when I put out that first bird feeder this spring that it would lead to so much fowl drama and, surprisingly, a lot of joy. Watching the birds daily is calming. Watching Francis learn to fly was definitely among my favorite things to happen all year.

For me, becoming a friend of the birds was definitely one of the better parts of the long year that has been 2021 — except for the dead pigeon incident, of course.

If you, like me, could use a little more joy in your life, spending a few bucks on a bird feeder is a good place to start.

Award-winning journalist Danae Lenz is the business editor at the Idaho State Journal. She earned her Bachelor of Journalism degree in 2014 from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln and has been a Pocatello resident ever since. She can be reached at dlenz@journalnet.com. You can view videos of this spring’s fledglings on her Instagram, @wanderlenzz, under the highlight “Backyard birds.”