Barn Owls

This is the time of year that you might be lucky enough to see a barn owl.  They're around all year, but feeding their young puts pressure on them to hunt more in the spring and early summer.  They're beautiful:  ghostlike, with a heart-shaped face, thin body, and feathers that run from glacial white to the warmest bronze, with a few dark dots thrown in for whimsy.  Under those feathers, barn owls' bodies are pretty insubstantial, and since their bones are air-filled, pretty lightweight.  Birds don't have marrow, as it would weigh them down and require more energy expenditure in flight.  It also makes healing those bones, if broken, difficult. 
Barn owls are nocturnal and silent when they hunt on the wing.  A mouse has very acute hearing, so an owl must be a quiet hunter.  The feathers on the leading edge of their wings are constructed in such a way that their flight is totally silent.
The director at the wildlife center where I volunteered told me a wonderful story.  When we had an owl to rehab, or any other bird of prey, we would prepare them for freedom by allowing them free range in a big flight cage, or barn.  This would help them to regain strength and tone in their flight muscles.  A  necessary part of this was to release live mice in the "mouse arena" inside the barn, so that the owl could relearn or sharpen hunting skills prior to release.   No mice the next morning meant success. (The arena was constructed so that the mice could not escape by climbing or digging.)  Sorry, that's the way Nature operates.  As Temple Grandin says "Nature is cruel, but humans don't have to be."  It would be cruel to release a bird who hunts for a living if the bird couldn't hunt. Starvation is slow and heartless.
We had three adult barn owls in the big barn, readying for release.  The director walked up late each evening in order to leave the mice for that night's hunt.  One night she entered the barn and didn't turn on the lights.  Of course, the owls knew she was there and that she had dinner.  The three of them began to fly around her, coursing back and forth, drifting near then disappearing, never touching her.  She could feel the soft movement of air as they came near, and in the dim light, could just make out their shapes.  All in utter silence.  She said it was truly like standing amidst the flight of ghost birds. 

Baby barn owls are a completely different story.  The center  gets in two or three nestfuls every year.  Most commonly, the mother owl makes her nest in a barn loft amidst the hay bales.  If  the bales are moved, the nest falls apart and the babies end up on the barn floor.  Baby barn owls are covered in white down and have long, strong legs and feet.  And they hiss.  Their hiss is actually deafening.  After being exposed to five or six irate barn owl babies, I feel like I've been to a Kiss concert.  I learned to wear ear plugs.  Of course, they're terrified; what happened to the quiet nest in the barn with mother owl bringing mice for dinner?  Now there are these huge humans with grasping hands (fully gloved) reaching and pulling them away from their nest mates.   We cut up dead mice: guts, hair, bone and all.  That's the way they eat them.  The volunteer  gently grasps a hissing, weaving baby and wraps it in a washcloth, holding it sort of like an ice cream cone.  A succulent bit of mouse in forceps is nudged at the bill.  They eventually get the idea, then eat hungrily.  One thing we do that their mother never did: after each meal we wipe down their bill and breast in order to get the bloody bits off.  They hate it.
But we never, never want babies, or any other critters, to become pets at the wildlife center.  They must stay wild and keep a healthy respect for people.   You can understand why. We don't name any bird or animal that comes to the center, unless they become a resident for education. We have affection for them, of course, but we're there for them, not vice versa.
So when it comes time to release a barn owl, it's time for celebration.   The owl is taken in a carrier to the area where the nest was found.  At dusk, after a good feeding,  the carrier door is opened and the owl flies free.  Silent, otherworldly, he floats into the darkening sky.

Birds in Boxes

Because we live on water, I asked my dad to make up some wood duck boxes.  This was 8 or so years ago, before old age prevented him from working with wood, one of the things he loved most.   So our wood duck boxes have special meaning.  You can easily find patterns for them on the Internet if you want to build some, and most bird stores sell them already constructed.   If you put them up near water on a sturdy post, you may get wood ducks, or sometimes, common mergansers to nest near you.

The first year our boxes were up, I hadn't seen any duck  activity near them, even though there were wood ducks and mergansers on the water near us.  I convinced my husband that we should check the box mounted on the huge alder in our yard.  It's half screened with leafy branches, about 15 feet up the massive trunk.  My husband is no fan of ladders, so I always agree to stand on the lowest rung in order to steady it when he climbs.  On this sunny morning, as he climbed slowly upward, we listened carefully for any scratching or shuffling inside the box.  Silence.  Another step up. More silence.  The front panel of a well-constructed box will pivot up and out when the lower locking nail is removed.  This opens the full front of the box, leaving the front panel attached by the upper nail.  This allows for a thorough cleaning at the end of the season.
 My husband was wiggling loose the lower nail in order to open the box when whoosh! what seemed like a HUGE bird exploded, squawking (and pooping) out the small entry door of the box.  There was lots of arm swinging and swaying on the ladder by both of us, but I was elated.  We had a family in the box!  And it was a  common merganser hen, less common than a wood duck.
My husband was, understandably, not so elated.  We managed to reset the nail, get down the ladder and pull it away from the tree  so that no enterprising raccoons would have easy access to the box.  There were no convenient limbs nearby, but they can be pretty clever when it comes to harvesting eggs.
Because of the skilled secrecy of mother merganser, we didn't witness the fledging of the youngsters.  A week or so after what would have been their fledge date, we did see a beautiful merganser hen with a clutch of tiny, fluffy brown youngsters in the water.  Especially charming is the fact that the babies will ride on the parents' backs, sometimes half-tucked under a wing, in the water. 

The other box, nearer to the road, hosted a wood duck hen two years ago.   I didn't know she was in the box either, until one day, when I was out working in the side yard, I noticed a very high-pitched calling coming from the water right near the shore.  It's built up with sedges and reeds there, so I couldn't see who was calling so urgently.  But just then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tiny duckling sail out of the entry hole of the box and flutter, kind of like a brown and yellow hankie, to the ground.   He was momentarily disoriented after his four-point landing, but he soon picked up on the calling again and headed, without hesitation, to the water where the mother wood duck waited.  This repeated four more times, with four tiny ducklings launching themselves fearlessly into the world to follow their mother.  I've learned that this fledging occurs on the day when the last chick has hatched.  Intrepid little guys.   As they were all getting reconnoitered in the water, an interested crow began to circle closer.  I couldn't stand it.   Interfering or not in what occurs in the natural world can be debated for hours, days, but I couldn't let one of those fuzzy guys who hadn't really had a chance at life lose it so quickly.  So I lobbed small rocks at the crow.  He finally went away, disgruntled.  There were a total of six ducklings by then, and no more came from the box.   Mother duck stopped calling and I assumed that she knew how many there were. (A  check of the box later in the day showed her to be correct.) We watched that brood grow under the  beautiful Cleopatra eye of their mother. 



Nesting birds should be disturbed as little as possible, but you can safely check nest boxes and not permanently scare away the parents.  I've checked bluebird boxes, swallow boxes and wood duck/merganser boxes.  You can even gently remove the nestlings in order to weigh and band them and return them to the box.  The parents will fuss and fly around, but if you're quick, gentle and respectful, no harm is done, and you can learn a lot.  There are blue bird trails all over America where caring folks are trying to bring back bluebirds to areas where all the trees have been removed.  They're cavity nesters and quickly take to boxes.  Gathering info from the bluebird boxes tells us how many young are successfully raised, are they healthy, who is using the box?  If you have a dead tree on your property, it's great if you can leave it.   Drill a few big holes in it~ who knows who you might get: woodpeckers and owls are also cavity nesters, and we are using up all the wooded land for our homes.  It's a good feeling to share and provide a bird family with a  home too.

Porcupine medicine

For five or six years I volunteered at a wildlife rehab center not far from my home.   The center mainly cares for injured birds, but critters find their way there, too.  We cared for bob cats, beavers, raccoons (wild only please), skunks, deer and a porcupine.  An injured porky is a therapeutic challenge, to say the least.  This porky had a nasty, deep cut that ran almost parallel to the base of his tail.  We decided he was a male, because none of us were interested in sexing a porcupine! 

The quills on an adult porcupine's back can be four inches long. They have barbs so that when they stick into something, they stay.  Porcupines do not 'shoot' their quills at an adversary; you have to come in contact with the quills for them to attach.  Once attached, though,  they're really hard to get out.

This porcupine needed oral antibiotics to treat the infection in his cut.  Pills were out of the question, as he could detect the smallest foreign body cleverly disguised in his food.  We would find squash rinds, apple cores and a single lonely pill left behind after a meal.  Liquid antibiotics come only in what are disgusting sickly sweet fruit flavors, and usually are Maalox-pink.  This was what we had to work with.  The director and intrepid  volunteers developed a plan.  We measured out the amount of liquid antibiotic needed for a dose and put it in a large syringe.  Someone with tall rubber boots would get just behind the porcupine and gently grasp him by the sides through several thick layers of blanket.  Sitting behind the porky on a low stool, the volunteer would use leather-gloved hands and rubber-booted legs to hold him immobile through the blanket.  Another volunteer would slip the syringe in the side of his mouth, anticipating that he would turn his head away.   By following his head and expelling the medicine into his mouth, we were able to get most of it down.  A lot went on the floor and there was much grimacing and lip-licking afterward.  He didn't like the taste. 

The quills just at the base of the tail are shorter and a bit less dense.  This made it easier to clean the wound, but we always came away with many quills in our gloves.  I think the short ones were harder to get loose.  While he stayed with us, we found quills everywhere.  They were in the laundry, the leather gloves, our rubber boots, his enclosure, the kitchen, everywhere.

He was pretty sick and lethargic when he came to us, but over time the infection dried up, and he gained a pound or two. As he got stronger, he became bored with his enclosure.  We found chew marks on the lower portion of the door one morning.  He became insistent to be let out, scratching and chewing wherever he could find purchase.

Each morning, we  let him wander the center hospital area while we cleaned his enclosure.  Porcupines are slow, so we never had to wonder where he went, but we were careful to keep all outside doors closed.   Since he was chewing away the enclosure door, the director decided to just let him wander the hospital all the time.  We propped open his door and would entice him back in with food at mealtime.  Porcupines love to chew on fresh greenery, and we would scour the nearby woods for special leafy limbs to put in his enclosure. 

When the time came to release him, the director decided to release him on center property.  This is over 120 acres of woods and fields, perfect for a porky.   It is fenced and posted, and many of the former center critters live safely there.  One sunny day we tempted him outside with squash bits~ it was easy as he was ready to go.  He ambled slowly off into the woods after his meal.  We were happy to see a healthy animal leave us.  It's a great feeling to be able to give something back to the animals for all that they give us.

Each evening, the director  returns to the center to do a final check and close up.   The evening of the porcupine's release, she walked to the door and lo-and-behold, there sat porky, waiting to be let in for dinner.  She opened the door and he ambled in, making his way to his old cage area.  A meal was prepared and afterward, he seemed happy to remain.  Doors were locked and lights off.

Next morning, porky was at the door, waiting to go out.   So he became an out-patient!  For several days, the pattern repeated.  In at night, out in the morning.  We weren't sure how long this would go on, but it was great fun to see him hale and hearty. He would still warn us away, pivoting so that his all-business backside, quills flared, faced us.  We had lots of respect for that warning.

Finally, the night came when he wasn't there to ask to be let in. We weren't worried about him, as he was strong and healthy.  One of the volunteers did spot him in a tree not far from the center hospital  or month or so later.  Perched on a thick branch, he chewed meditatively on a mouthful of leaves.  We have a snapshot of him up there, a dark spot in a leafy green tree.  There's a great story behind that photo.

Beautful Danger

The otters were by today.  These otters are resident: they move back and forth  from the big lakes south of us, up our channel to where it widens into a huge, shallow marsh to the north.  They are river otters- sleek, brown as a Hershey bar, graceful.  They're charming to watch as they play in the water, and they do play.  Diving, looping, slipping up onto the shore to run with incredible, agile speed, then without a splash, smooth as silk back into the water.  Sometimes there's just a bubble trail in the water as they move along, submerged, hunting for food.  Then up pops a brown furry head and two paws, grasping a snack which could be a small fish or crustacean.  They eat with apparent great enjoyment, crunching away comically,  like someone eating a cookie with both hands. 

But there's a darker side to the otters' visits this time of year.  Some of their favorite foods are duck eggs  and young ducklings.  As far as the otter is concerned, a duckling is no different than a small fish.  Food is food.  For us watching the mother duck in a panic, quickly herding her brood to where ever she determines is safe- that's hard.  She can't out-swim an otter.  Her ducklings are much too young to fly, and although they can move with stunning speed for their size, they can't out-swim an otter.   Usually the otter is happy with one duckling, but otters have very good memories for locating food.  If they're successful, they'll remember. This is why we watch duckling broods of twelve and more shrink and shrink.  As I've mentioned before, raccoons and larger birds also predate duck nests.   Somehow, though, there always seems to enough mallards to go around every year.  But it's tough to watch.

Sometimes the otters do strike out.  If the  hen has her ducklings tucked away in tall grasses before the otters happen by, the otters may not pick up the faint scent.  I hold my breath and watch them circling our pond, heads up, alert, noses carefully sifting scent. They seem to be impatient hunters though, maybe because the food supply is pretty abundant this time of year.  A few moments spent looking, sniffing, and they  usually dive for what can be found underwater.  Then satisfied, they go, leaving silent ripples on the smooth water, and a safe brood of ducklings for now. 

Other Black Birds Among Us

Now that it's full and glorious green spring, if you live anywhere near fresh water, you  know that red-winged blackbirds are everywhere right now.  These are the smallish black birds with brilliant red and yellow epaulets on their wings.  When the male is trying to impress a female or threaten another male, his red and yellow stripes fluff out quite impressively.  He may also tip forward on his branch to where he looks like he may fall completely forward.  I guess you have to be a bird to see this latter part as classy or scary.  The females are a subdued combination of brown to tan stripes.  Good camo for nesting. Years ago, I excitedly misidentified a female red-wing in our yard as a Northern Waterthrush (a rarity in our area ).  A humbling experience. But, if you try to ID birds, that will happen.  Learning from it is the key.
Red-wings particularly like boggy, grassy areas where water moves, preferably at a slow pace.  They'll take wetlands, rivers, lake edges, streams, biggish wet spots on the golf course.   And they're everywhere.  This is a good bird to learn if you're just starting out, as you will see it anywhere in the U.S. and most of Canada at certain times of the year.  Some red-wings evidently don't like all our rain and snow and fly to Mexico for the winter.  So it's easy to see one and just toss off  "Oh, another red-wing.  We have tons of them around the house..."  Also, if you're learning bird song, this guy is an easy one.  Nothing else sounds like a red-wing. (I won't go into the mimic birds here, it's just depressing.)  Red-wings aren't skulky birds that hide in dense thickets.  The male will find the tallest reed in the swamp and proclaim his territory for all to see and hear. When you see a male, watch him for an open beak.  When he starts to sing, you can tie the song to the bird.  One by one, bird songs will become identifiable.   You probably already know robin, chickadee, cardinal, if you live in the Midwest.  They add up.

We woke the other morning, still  almost night, to the sound of a red wing creaking his morning song.  It really was darker than light, and we thought the cat had made the sound.  Hard to describe, some say it sounds like an un-oiled gate being opened.   The first few birds to sing so early in the morning always sound charmingly sleepy.  Their song is tentative at first, just a note or two, then a long silence, then a few more notes.   He finally got a good start on it just the geese that live farther up the lake flew by, yelping their louder morning song.  
When all the birds begin to sing first thing in the morning, it's called the dawn chorus.  If you can pry yourself out of bed before dawn on a summer day, grab some coffee and a chair and sit outside.  First, small sleepy peeps and chirps, maybe from a junco, then towhee jumps in with his questioning call, chickadee starts dee-ing, the red-wings chime in, then the goldfinch crew almost drowns out everyone as a hummer zooms by on its first food foray.  It's glorious to see the sky turn light as the birds sing it a greeting.  What better way to start the day.

Back to blackbirds, briefly.  Don't be fooled into thinking you see tri-colored blackbirds unless you live in the western half of California, or very small, specific places in Oregon.  They are a rarity north of the California border.  And they can look a lot like a red-wing.  The yellow of the red-wing is white on a tri-colored.  And of course, the yellow on the red-wing can look pretty white sometimes.  But be suspicious.  If you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras (unless you're in Africa).  According to the bird books, the tri-colored's song is more nasal.  Hard to tell unless you've listened to a lot of red-wings.   Also, yellow-headed blackbirds live throughout the west, but usually not on the coast.  Mainly in the dry lands east of the mountains.  They're easy:  looks like someone dumped a can of brilliant yellow paint over their heads. 

Birds do wander off the courses that we humans expect of  them.  So it is possible to see a rarity in your area.  It happens all the time.  Just be suspicious, take notes, take photos if you can.  Have someone more experienced look at it.   Or, just enjoy the birds for what they are, watch them get through life, feeding, avoiding danger, caring for young, singing.  Singing.