Boy it was cooking in Sapsucker Woods yesterday--humans really have screwed up the planet's cooling system. It was in the 90s, and I was so hot I was panting. So when I noticed Laura Erickson studying me and taking my picture, I wanted to tell her to go to hell. I know that most humans with binoculars have trouble telling us flycatchers apart if we don't come right out and tell them who we are, but I figured why should I go to the trouble of singing just so she could be sure of my identity? I mean, even if she did figure out whether I was a Least or a Willow, it wasn't like she'd know me from Adam or Tom or Dick or Harry or any of my other friends. People think when you can identify a species you know enough about birds, but hello? We're individuals. And on a day like yesterday, when I was hot and hungry and weary from traveling, I was just too cranky to play along with her stupid "year list game."