Amid the dumpsters, back-alley debris and old warehouses of a tiny urban pocket of central Vancouver, one of the most remarkable birding chapters in North America is coming to a gloomy end.
One day soon, after more than 100 years, the city's famed population of crested mynas, which once blackened skies by the tens of thousands, will almost certainly vanish for good.
The cheeky, starling look-a-like is already the rarest bird on the continent. Forget the several hundred whooping cranes that still survive. Vancouver's crested myna is down to five. Or is it two? Recent counts are not reassuring.
"I give them two to three years," said birder Brian Seft, focusing his powerful binoculars on a remaining myna as it hopped unconcernedly from curb to gutter.
"Without a doubt, we are seeing the last days of the crested myna in North America. It is very sad."
The demise has been sudden. Though the myna population peaked in the 1920s and 1930s, hundreds of the birds still flourished throughout the city as recently as 10 years ago.
Then, abruptly, these mynas, too, began to disappear, a victim of lost habitat and an all-out push by starlings to take over their surviving nesting sites.
Losing out to the aggressive, unloved starling -- let go in New York in 1890 as part of a misguided attempt to introduce birds mentioned in Shakespeare to the United States -- is a bitter pill for the more laid-back crested myna, since neither species is indigenous to North America.
A few years later, legend has it, either a careless sea captain or grumpy customs officer released several crested mynas from their cages in Vancouver, where the imported sub-tropical bird was a favourite pet of Chinese labourers.
The birds initially flourished in the mild Pacific climate. Unlike the starlings, however, they never really budged from their starting point.
Bird-book listings for the crested myna read like a Monty Python excerpt. "Habitat: Laos, Hong Kong, southeast China and Vancouver, Canada," reads one.
Ever since word of the myna's last stand began to spread, birders from around the world have been flocking to its chosen Alamo.
"We see them outside all the time, standing there in the street, cameras ready," said Janet Racela, a receptionist at the Best Janitor four-storey brick office building where the final few mynas reside.
Robert Schutsky leads annual bird-watching expeditions to the Pacific Northwest all the way from Pennsylvania. He regularly includes an overnight stop in Vancouver.
"People know this is the only place in North America for the crested myna," said Mr. Schutsky. "By the time they finally see it, their excitement has built to a fever pitch."
Despite its rarity, the crested myna is not hard to find. An afternoon visit to the Best Janitor building at the out-of-the-way corner of First and Wylie usually pays off.
Properly known as Sturnus Cristatullus, the crested myna is a black, robin-sized bird, with distinctive white patches on its wings clearly visible when it flies. It has a yellow bill and a noticeable, punk-like crest on top.
"Like a starling having a bad-hair day," Mr. Seft advised. "Look, there's one now. Right on the window sill."
Sure enough. There it was. Spotted after only 15 minutes. The bird quickly skipped onto an adjacent iron bar, posing and basking in the deep sunshine. A moment later, it was off, first to the roof, then to a telephone wire and finally, a frantic scoot down the lane in search of grub.
Trapped on distant shores an ocean away from the lush, sup-tropical vegetation were it belongs, the crested myna attracted attention from the moment it arrived.
U.S. agricultural experts worried that the bird would spread and wreak havoc on grain production. Scholars have kept busy on the myna's many mysteries: why only here and nowhere else, why did it do so well, why its equally sudden decline, and should anyone care?
"I, for one, will miss it. The myna always makes me chuckle," said Mr. Seft. "My wife remembers seeing two mynas disappearing into a dumpster, each emerging with a cold, abandoned McDonald's french fry in their beak. No wonder they're in trouble."