Sentry duty [reprint]

blue jay

Blue jays keep a close watch on their neighborhood (Photo: Rick Leche, CCL).

[This post was first published on Feb 12, 2011.]

JAY!  JAY!  JAY!

Uh oh. I’ve been spotted, and the guards have ratted me out.

HALT! Who goes there?

Thought you could slip past, did you? Not on my watch. Hey everybody—look!

LOOK! OVER THERE!

Steller's jay

Steller’s jay (Photo: Allan D. Wilson, CCL).

Every non-human ear in the neighborhood takes note. It feels a bit like being caught at an awkward moment by the paparazzi. But I don’t take it personally. I know everyone who wanders past is subject to the same protocol—people, cats and dogs, hawks, snakes, you name it. Jays take sentry duty seriously. Any real or imagined threat to the forest citizenry is duly noted and announced.

western scrub jay

Western scrub jay (Photo: Len Blumin, CCL).

Jays are part of a large family. Their Corvidae cousins include gray jays, nutcrackers, crows, ravens, and magpies, as well as some species we’re not that familiar with in North America–choughs, treepies, and jackdaws. In the Americas alone there are over 30 different species christened with some variation of the “jay” brand. The five scrub jays (Aphelocoma spp.) and the pinyon jay (Gymnorhinus cyanocephalus) closely favor one another, but two members of the North American branch have made striking and unique sartorial choices. Once you’ve seen a Steller’s jay (Cyanocitta stelleri) or a blue jay (Cyanocitta cristata), you’ll never mistake them for any other bird.

Florida scrub jay

Florida scrub jay (Photo: B. Walker, CCL).

Of course, they’re not really blue. It’s just a trick of the light called a schemochrome. If you find a blue jay feather you can watch the color disappear and reappear as you roll the shaft between your fingers, changing it’s position relative to the sun. These forest defenders are high-tech.

When they’re not spying on everyone, jays pitch in to give the next generation of trees a head start. Okay, that’s probably an accidental community service. Jays bury acorns and then fail to use them all at snack time. The seeds germinate and—poof!—you’ve got a new oak tree. If society benefits from your actions, intentional or not, shouldn’t you still get some credit?

 

piñon jay

Pinyon jay (Photo: Tony Randell, CCL).

Despite their public service efforts, jays have a reputation as bad birds. Maybe it’s the black mask some of them wear. More likely, it’s the abuse of power so often attributed to their ranks. Eye-witnesses tell of raids on the nests of other birds for eggs and hatchlings, but one extensive study of blue jay feeding behavior found only 1% of these feathered neighbors had evidence of eggs or birds in their stomachs. You’ll also hear stories of jays who trick fellow backyard residents into leaving the feeder by mimicking hawk calls. Now, I can’t deny that some bullying does occur. Think of it as the price of protection, if you must. But judge not, lest ye be judged. Keep in mind that both Steller’s and blue jays have complex social systems and tight family bonds.

Birds, like people, are rarely all good or bad. Your perception of how the scale tips often depends on your point of view. Life isn’t always black and white, or even shades of gray. Sometimes, it’s not even blue.

© 2011 Next-Door Nature— no reprints without written permission from the author.

Multi-Tasker

I found a blue jay feather this morning while I was out walking my dog, Dash. That isn’t remarkable — jays are a common species here, and because the color blue is relatively scarce in the natural environment (except for the sky) it’s eye-catching. I’ve started an informal collection, compiled on some shelves near my front door. I admire them on a semi-regular basis while running a Swiffer™ over household surfaces, and when I have to pick them up off of the floor because I’m cleaning like it’s a timed event.

As I ambled along, spinning the feather between my thumb and forefinger, I could feel it lift at the slightest breeze, attempting to return to the sky. I started thinking about the versatility of this keratin assemblage, this trinket both delicate and durable, this multi-tasker extraordinaire.

I’m well aware that researchers say multi-tasking is a myth, at least when it comes to the human brain. We only think we’re doing several things at once, the scientists tell us; actually, we’re just toggling back and forth from one thing to another, which reduces our mental efficiency and even lowers (temporarily) our IQ.  I’m mostly convinced by these studies but, full disclosure, neuroscience isn’t my field so I’m only familiar with what’s summarized and reported by the media… and by “media” I mean NPR. In light of all that has been reported, though, I find it even more fascinating and frustrating that handling more than one task is trivial for so many other, less admired, anatomical features. Wouldn’t you expect our much-lauded gray matter to be every bit as masterful at multi-tasking as, say, a feather?

Think about it…

First of all, feathers allow birds to fly — a feat humans have still not managed to accomplish, even though we reassure each other constantly that we have the largest, most amazingly intelligent brains on Earth (clearly, though, ours is not the most self-confident computer on the planet).

Now, before you think I’ve somehow overlooked the fact that thousands of human beings are flying from one global location to another all day, every day, and have been doing so for quite some time, let me interject that human beings have, without question, figured out how to make machines fly (with the aid of metallurgy and fossil fuels, of course). But we have never, not once, jumped up from the ground or launched from a tree branch to flap off into the wild blue yonder. Superman doesn’t count because he isn’t human, and wing-suits don’t count either because that’s gliding, not flying. Humans ride, birds fly, and they do it by flapping feather-covered arms, using renewable energy sources like insects, berries, seeds, and sugar water.

Next, consider that feathers also provide thermal insulation. This should come as no surprise because people use bird feathers to keep warm, too. We stuff clouds of down and feathers in-between layers of rip-stop polyester made from recycled plastic water bottles to manufacture vests and parkas. Then we slip on the garment, zip up the front, and head out into the elements to do some birdwatching.

Birds can waterproof their feathers with bio-oils stored in a convenient uropygial/preen gland at the base of their tail. This is handy because, having allocated their arms to flying, they can’t hold a spray can of Scotchgard™. Nor are they able to use hammers, saws, and other tools to build a roof overhead that will shield them from rain, sleet, and snow, or to build a boat when they want to go fishing.

But wait— there’s more! Bet you didn’t know that feathers are also an effective communication device. See, humans use an broad assortment of products, including designer label clothing, team-sponsored gear, our vehicles, digital devices, and jewelry to make nonverbal announcements about our group affiliations and availability.

Birds accomplish the same thing using their birthday feather-suits. The colors and patterns they wear say more than any Tinder profile or list of Who’s Who ever could.  Female birds assess a suitor’s sartorial presentation to determine if he’s her type, and male birds parade their plumage to show the ladies they’ve got the goods to be a quality life-partner. Or maybe just a handsome hookup, depending on how the species swings. Those same feathers can be used to warn a trespasser that this territory has been claimed, or warn a romantic competitor to back off.

Kind of puts the old uni-tasking cerebral cortex to shame, don’t you think? And all this time I’ve been under the impression that “featherhead” was an insult.

 

[Thanks to the following photographers for making their work available through the Creative Commons license: bagaball, Richard Hurd, Jonathan Fox, Ingrid Taylar, and Putneypics.  © 2017 Next-Door Nature. Reprints welcomed with written permission from the author.]

Oasis

The Nissan Watering Hole (Photo: Ingrid Taylar, used with permission)

American robins and other wild creatures have to get creative if they want to quench a winter thirst (Photo: Ingrid Taylar, Creative Commons license)

.

Which season comes to mind when you read these words?

parched

desiccated

shriveled

arid

sere

If you’re a wild thing, the answer may well be winter.

Sure, the heat of summer can make any body feel dry as dust. But wild animals, especially those species who can tolerate living near people, usually have an easier time finding some moisture when the mercury rises than when it falls.

In cities and suburbs, April brings more than just spring showers. The return engagement of automatic lawn sprinklers turns every pampered landscaping leaf and each blade of carefully tended turf-grass into a diminutive drink dispenser. Fountains splash and spritz and spray. Swimming pools drop all pretense of modesty and shrug off their winter coats. Hoses report for car-washing and child-cooling duty, turning streets and sidewalks into ephemeral streams. Birdbaths and pet bowls brim with cool, clear water.

Squirrel lapping water from window (Photo: David Grant, CC license)Come January, February, and March, creatures have to get creative and a bit brave to quench their thirst, at least in northern climes. Those of us with easy access to indoor plumbing may not realize it, but for wild animals, dehydration is a bigger threat to winter survival than starvation. Even when the clouds are feeling generous, the precipitation they deliver is often in a more or less rigid—and much less quaffable—form. Personally, I like to think of sleet, snow, and ice as the H2O equivalent of hibernation. Unfortunately, water’s winter vacation means more work for those who depend on it.

And that’s everyone. No exception. Animal, vegetable (no, not mineral)… if you’re alive, you not only need to consume water, you are water—60 to 80% water. Even critters who sleep away the short photo-period months depend on water to stay alive, same as the rest of us. They simply tank up pre-torpor and then use the water tucked away in their extra reserves of body fat.

American goldfinch drinking from an icicle (Photo: JDB Photos, CC license)Active animals need water for basic metabolic functions, including proper digestion. This is especially true for seed-eating birds (a group that tends to hang around all year rather than migrate to places where insects and fruit are still on the menu) because there isn’t much moisture in their meals. In fact, it takes extra water to digest high fiber foods.

What happens to birds and mammals who can’t find a source of unfrozen surface water when they need it? The problem is far greater than simply putting up with a dry mouth until you can stop at a convenience store for a bottle of Aquafina. How long an animal can go without water depends on many factors, including their species, weight, physical condition, and parasite load, as well as the weather. Generally speaking, though, it doesn’t take long for life without liquid to get unpleasant. Lose one or two percent of total body water (TBW) and your dehydration is classified as “mild”; however, anyone who’s experienced it (that would be me) is sure to argue that the resulting headache is anything but. The definition of “moderate” dehydration is five to ten percent of TBW… the situation is getting serious now, as your skin dries out and loses turgor (the ability to snap back into place when pinched) and your eyes begin to sink back into their sockets. Over ten percent TBW loss is “severe” enough that you’re unlikely to recover without medical intervention.

The scenario I’ve just described may sound like an environmental disaster waiting to happen… and in cases of actual drought, such as what’s been going on in Texas the past year, the impact is rather grim. Under more normal circumstances, winter water is difficult but not impossible to find, and this scarcity offers an opportunity for nature lovers. Want to make wild lives—and wildlife watching—a little easier? Turn on the spigot.

I mean that literally. Providing water can be as simple as letting your outside faucets drip. You probably already do this to protect your pipes from bursting when The Weather Channel warns of freezing temperatures. Perhaps you can afford to do it once a week, or every other day, regardless of the forecast.

BluebirdBath (Photo: Rob and Jane Kirkland, CC license)

If you’d rather keep the water bill low, and the wild ones a little further from the house, birdbaths are a simple way to offer refreshment. They’re easy to maintain, plus you can add an electric, battery-, or solar-powered heater/de-icer to insure that everyone can wet their whistle on even the coldest days. Hard-core backyard habitat aficionados will drool over the possibility of installing a pond or artificial stream. Whatever floats your boat—you’ll find both ends of the water-feature spectrum, and everything in between, at your local watchable wildlife retailer or gardening center.  I promise you, the sound of water is irresistible music to non-human ears. New resources will be found and greatly appreciated.

What’s more, water is an effective wildlife attractor all year long. When you offer seed, you get seed-eaters (e.g., cardinals, blue jays, house sparrows, and squirrels) and some omnivores (e.g., opossums, raccoons, the occasional deer or black bear)—and probably a lot of hulls and other waste that needs to be raked up and thrown away. Feeder maintenance can be an expensive and time-consuming habit. [Be warned, you may also inadvertently lure in some species who like to feast on the feeder regulars. If you find it disturbing to look up from your morning coffee to see a sharp-shinned hawk scattering goldfinch feathers hither and yon, you may find it helps to think of this as progressing from “having a feeder” to “having a food-web.”] Landscape with native plants and you should be able to coax some fruit and nectar fans to visit as well. Few homeowners are willing to do what’s necessary to invite insectivores to dinner, at least intentionally.

But offer everyone something to drink and suddenly your crib is a coffee house, local pub, and hot new club, all rolled into one. Just add water!

.

.

Would you like to find a little Next-Door Nature when you open your email? Click the “subscribe”  link in the upper right-hand corner of this page and receive notifications of new posts!
© 2012 Next-Door Nature—no reprints without written permission from the author (I’d love for you to share my work—just ask). Thanks to these photographers for making their work available through a Creative Commons license: Ingrid Taylar (thirsty robins); David Grant (thirsty squirrel); JDB Photos (thirsty goldfinch); and Rob & Jane Kirkland (thirsty bluebirds)..

Sentry duty

blue jay

Blue jays keep a close watch on their neighborhood (Photo: Rick Leche, Creative Commons license).

.

JAY!  JAY!  JAY!

Uh oh. I’ve been spotted, and the guards have ratted on me.

Halt! Who goes there? Thought you could just slip past, did you? Not on my watch. Hey everybodylook! Look! Over there!

Steller's jay

Steller's jay (Photo: Allan D. Wilson, Creative Commons license).

Every non-human ear in the neighborhood takes note. It feels a bit like being caught at an awkward moment by the paparazzi. But I don’t take it personally. I know everyone who wanders past is subject to the same protocol—people, cats and dogs, hawks, snakes, you name it. Jays take sentry duty seriously. Any real or imagined threat to the forest citizenry is duly noted and announced.

western scrub jay

Western scrub jay (Photo: Len Blumin, Creative Commons license).

Jays are part of a large family. Their Corvidae cousins include gray jays, nutcrackers, crows, ravens, and magpies, as well as some species we’re not that familiar with in North America–choughs, treepies, and jackdaws. In the Americas alone there are over 30 different species christened with some variation of the “jay” brand. The five scrub jays (Aphelocoma spp.) and the pinyon jay (Gymnorhinus cyanocephalus) closely favor one another, but two members of the North American branch have made striking and unique sartorial choices. Once you’ve seen a Steller’s jay (Cyanocitta stelleri) or a blue jay (Cyanocitta cristata), you’ll never mistake them for any other bird.

Florida scrub jay

Florida scrub jay (Photo: B. Walker, Creative Commons license).

Of course, they’re not really blue. It’s just a trick of the light called a schemochrome. If you find a blue jay feather you can watch the color disappear and reappear as you roll the shaft between your fingers, changing it’s position relative to the sun. These forest defenders are high-tech.

When they’re not spying on everyone, jays pitch in to give the next generation of trees a head start. Okay, that’s probably an accidental community service. Jays bury acorns and then fail to use them all at snack time. The seeds germinate and—poof!—you’ve got a new oak tree. If society benefits from your actions, intentional or not, shouldn’t you get some credit?

piñon jay

Pinyon jay (Photo: Tony Randell, Creative Commons license).

Despite their public service efforts, jays have a reputation as bad birds. Maybe it’s the black mask some of them wear. More likely, it’s the abuse of power so often attributed to their ranks. Eye- witnesses tell of raids on the nests of other birds for eggs and hatchlings, but one extensive study of blue jay feeding behavior found only 1% of jays had evidence of eggs or birds in their stomachs. You’ll also hear stories of jays who trick fellow backyard residents into leaving the feeder by mimicking hawk calls. Now, I can’t deny that some bullying does occur. Think of it as the price of protection, if you must. But judge not, lest ye be judged. Keep in mind that both Steller’s and blue jays have complex social systems and tight family bonds.

Birds, like people, are rarely all good or bad. Whether the scale tips to the right or the left depends on your point of view. Life isn’t always black and white, or even shades of gray. Sometimes, it’s not even blue.

Email your wildlife questions to NDN and the answer may turn up as a future blog post. And don’t forget to “Like” NDN on Facebook!

© 2011 Next-Door Nature— no reprints without written permission from the author.