Watching the nesting birds

On the first morning I wrote that the smaller bird was timid. It waited on the wall while the larger one took food from the tray. On the second morning I moved my chair behind the shed. The smaller bird came first. I crossed out “timid” and wrote “cautious”. This seemed more scientific, although it required exactly the same knowledge of the bird's mind. By the fifth morning my notes were full of qualifications: when the chair was visible, when the tray was close to the hedge, when the larger bird was present. The page had become less readable and more useful. Still, at breakfast I told my daughter that the smaller bird was brave today. She asked what it had been afraid of. I said I did not know. I do not intend to stop speaking as if the birds have lives. The alternative can make an animal into a set of movements so thoroughly that nothing it does seems to count as an experience. But I would like my descriptions to carry a small reminder of where observation ends and companionship begins.