I’m not sure whether those were what Barbara kingsolver meant by The Bean Trees, but maybe.
The Zenadia doves are the “Bully Birds” on our outside patio. When they come to eat some cracked corn, they tend to run around chest-butting and sometimes extracting tail feathers from other birds (in an apparent effort to defend the largess) - particularly the White-winged doves, but sometimes also the Ground doves and even the Shiny cowbirds (though these are more inclined to stand their ground).
Screambirds are Northern Mockingbirds, because they always sing loudly when they’re nearby.
That’s what my son and I call groundhogs. We named one groundhog Goober once and now they are all Goober.
Black-eyed Susans are called Brown-eyed Becky’s. Closer to Latin name Rudbeckia hirta. And my best friend is Susan( blue eyed) and I can’t stand the thought of her with black eyes.
My nine-year-old calls Laburnum corn trees, because the flowers apparently looks like corn to him.
Somehow, I started calling tardigrades “tardy-bears”. Weird.
A combination of their two usual names: tardigrade and water-bear.
My partner and I deliberately mispronounce everything to the point that people listening probably wonder what is wrong with us.
All lagomorphs are “Buhnewys”, ducks are “dukes”, snakes are “snacks”. Birds are “birb” if normal-looking, and “borb” if particularly plump or fluffed up. Geese are “gossens”. Weasels are “wozzle” and we have also built an elaborate mythology around the idea of them all being experts in contract law (I’m not even sure how that came about).
Insects are “buge” (rhymes with huge), and the plural is Bugen. Slugs, likewise, are “Sluge”. Ants are “The Formic Menace” since they have invaded our house too many times.
We also like the thesaurasize names by substituting vaguely related words. Tree frog turns into shrub amphibian, cackling goose turns into giggling duck.
Toothed Jelly Fungus are called “Gopgops.”
Every time I find one I declare loudly that I have found the “root of all weevil”.