That’s not to say it’s worthless or no good. In fact, Abby’s current obsession is useful, educational and fun — for both of us. This summer, I’ve enjoyed watching her watch the birds in our backyard, and I think I’ve learned almost as much as she has.

It all started two years ago with a singing robin I bought at a toy store in Boston. Stuffed animals were Abby’s passion back then, and I knew she’d like the cute little bird, which emitted an authentic robin chirp when you squeezed its belly. She liked it so much she started collecting the other birds in the Audubon Society series, and the facts on the tags that came with them weren’t enough to satisfy her curiosity. Before long, she was online searching for more information. The next thing I knew, she was imitating bird calls, drawing detailed bird portraits, and typing up facts about the habitats, behaviors and food preferences of all her "pets."

For her birthday this year, all Abby wanted were binoculars and more stuffed birds for her collection. She got both — along with a beginner bird-watching guide, a sketchbook, a bird feeder and a bag of birdseed. Two months later, she has observed 11 different kinds of birds with her binoculars, which she affectionately calls "bins."

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Abby says she likes bird-watching because "you learn something new. You are able to identify them if you have a good guide book, and it’s fun to see the bird’s behavior and what it does."

This is what I like, too. There is a certain voyeuristic thrill to being a fly on the wall, so to speak, in another world. We have seen some interesting things. A pair of grackles came for lunch the other day. We spotted the dull-brown female first, perched on the feeder, and then noticed a glossier version of the same bird standing on the deck below. The female bustled around, poking through the seeds and tossing the choice ones down to her mate.

Birds are more orderly and courteous than many humans. When the feeder is busy, a few are always perched on the railing of the deck, waiting patiently for their turn. Behind them, another group lines up on the roof, ready to swoop in when a spot opens up.

One thing’s for sure, the phrase "eat like a bird" does not apply to our feathered friends. Once they got wind of the new restaurant on the block, we were filling that feeder every day. In fact, these critters ate a 40-pound bag of birdseed in less than a month — with only minimal help from the neighborhood squirrels and chipmunks.

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The funny thing about Abby’s hobby is that I was an avid bird-watcher at the same age. I didn’t tell her this until she took up bird-watching herself, and I remembered. When I was 9 and my youngest sister, Katie, was born, my mom gave my sister Liz and me small presents each time we visited her at the hospital. My favorite gift was a bird-watching book. I spent hours in the back yard that summer, looking for sparrows, listening for chickadees and sketching red-winged blackbirds. The hobby lasted about two years, and Mom supported it wholeheartedly. She helped me make a feeder with suet and string, sewed me an elaborate bird Halloween costume and, for my birthday, made me a three-dimensional bird cake that actually stood up.

Recently, I went searching in the attic for evidence of my bird obsession.

In my box of childhood memories, buried under Fluffy the kitty, my Brownie uniform and my fifth-grade state report, was a story I’d written and illustrated. It was called "The Lost Bird," and it was about a baby blue jay who jumped out of her nest prematurely, sprained her wing and was rescued by a little girl. There was also a fifth-grade poetry anthology, in which I contributed a three-stanza ode titled "Birds."

It’s been fun showing these artifacts to Abby, who, of course, can’t imagine a 9-year-old me, let alone a 9-year-old me doing the same things she’s doing. It’s nice to know that Abby and I are birds of a feather, and I’m enjoying it while I can.

If, by some miracle, we’re still flocking together in nine years, watching her leave the nest will be all the harder.

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Lisa Miller is a freelance writer who lives in Oneonta. She can be reached at lisamiller44@hotmail.com.