My story is about birds but not songbirds, I don’t think. (To be honest I am not sure where the sound of a bird meets the song of a bird.)
Anyway.
The main plaza here is called the Zócalo. It is a large square within another large square, both lined with benches and tall trees, and it was very common for people to sit and admire and feed the doves and zanates there. And the birds became used to being tended to by tourists and residents alike.
Then when the quarantine began, the streets emptied overnight. Nobody came to feed them. The Zócalo and the surrounding streets were closed to pedestrians, and all streets were closed every night from 8 PM until 8 AM. After a few weeks, we heard the zanates had left. We were not sure where they had gone because we were all at home and rumors were rampant. We also began to hear about the doves dying, there in the Zócalo. People who snuck out to feed them at night reported heaps of their beautiful, pale bodies lying around the edges of the square. The municipal workers would pick them up in the mornings.
Now the city has reopened and there are people in the Zócalo again. There are also doves to feed but so many fewer than before. There are however no zanates. The zanates moved to the zoo and stayed there, in that place where people still came in to feed the animals, including birds, and they could find natural food sources as well. They do not come near people anymore but rather swoop down to pick up dropped items at a distance.
I think bird treating is lovely. Dependency is not.