birdsoup

During my decades of bird watching I have always found fellow bird people to be nice people.  Eager to share sighting information, or recommend locations or to help a novice find and identify a species.  Bird watchers, in general, are the kind of people you like to be around.  Maybe not everyone is gregarious and outgoing.  But none are obnoxious, rude or haughty.

 That is why I was initially shocked on a recent trip to meet a group who were proud to be know as real S.O.B.s.  The idea was a so contrary to my preconception.  Fortunately, the term was not a pejorative describing their personalities.  They actually seemed quite nice.  Rather, the term referred to their status, “Spouse of a Birder”.

 You know, the person married to someone really into birds but who can’t tell a chickadee from a chicken.  And she doesn’t care.  The patient spouse who doesn’t complain when you rise before dawn, dress in your grubbiest clothes, grab your binoculars and bolt out the door to join other equally obsessed bird people searching for the reported Painting Bunting at the waterfront park.  The type of spouse who, on family vacations, is content to let you chase birds while she sleeps in.  Who doesn’t complaint about a 3-day holiday weekend spent chasing rarities.  Or a day spent on the Christmas Bird Count. 

This group of S.O.B.s seemed to be enjoying themselves.  While their husbands or wives were chasing birds they would sleep late, spend hours shopping in local stores, enjoy a pleasant lunch, relax with a book poolside, play cards and reunite with their spouses later in the day.  The bird people retold stories of today’s birds.  The S.O.B.s talked about the town.

 Both spouses enjoyed their weekends.  One with the birds, the other without.

 I mentioned to my spouse that I enjoyed the play on the usual S.O.B. and she found it clever as well.  She already referred to me as the “dirty old man” so she became known as an “S.O.B.”  Every one in our local birding community got a kick out of it as well.  It became a common phrase for a while.

 I recall explaining to a new couple we met at a social event that my wife was an S.O.B.  Everyone got a good laugh.  But they remembered us.  Sort of. 

 Six months later we met that couple again.  They remembered us and our association with birds.  But they didn’t get the terminology quite right.  The other wife laughed referring to my wife, not as an S.O.B. but as the “bird bitch”. 

After that episode my wife retired from any organized birding group.