Tale of Two Families

Western Kingbird. Photo by David Powell

Watching ‘my’ backyards birds is something less than an obsession, but still an important part of each day. I’ve envied friends who have been able to attract Barn Swallows to nest under their porches. A brilliantly colored swallow once visited my Rio Rancho porch in the spring but, obviously, found it lacking. I put up a nest platform on the side of my house hoping for a roadrunner to no avail. Three nest boxes hang from trees in my yard in hopes of attracting a flycatcher, chickadee or another cavity nesting species, but none of those has decided to call my yard home. Only the lowly House Sparrow has taken advantage of my generosity, building messy nests and defending them from all others.

So, it was with great joy that I discovered a Western Kingbird that had taken up residence in the dying ash tree in the front yard three years ago. That first year, while the tree still held a bounty of dark green leaves, it wasn’t until four lemon yellow fluffballs were noisily perched atop a high branch begging for insect meals delivered by their harried parents that I discovered the nest. They returned again the following year, possibly not the same adults, but choosing the same tree and successfully rearing three fledged young.

This year, I was waiting for them, listening for the bubbly that would announce their return from parts south. Arriving right on schedule, I was able to watch the nest building process as the tree yielded better views. Each year there are fewer leaves as the tree dies slowly due to an earlier infestation of ash borers. Fluffy best describes the messy cup built with grasses, twigs, and what appears to be cotton. I would watch one parent stand guard atop the highest branch, chipping, sallying forth to collect insects and deliver them into the tree. I expected young ones to emerge any day and checked the nest from a distance several times each day. Although I couldn’t see anything in the nest, the presence of vigilant parents indicated the presence of life in the nest.

Adult Cooper's Hawk. Photo by David Powell

Four years ago, a large stick nest appeared in one of the majestic cottonwoods in the park near my home. It held a pair of Cooper’s Hawks that successfully raised two young that year. It became part of my regular walk just so I could check on its progress, watching the young grow and eventually fledge. When the young ones showed up in my back yard, fumbling as they tested their hunting skills, I thrilled to the real life nature show although the teenaged birds never actually caught anything. The parents; however, with stealth hunting prowess, wreaked havoc on the birds that came to feed at Restaurant Garber. The second year, the Cooper’s Hawks lost their nest to the ferocious spring winds. I found it on the ground along with broken eggshells. Last year, three babies grew up in that tree.

The dogs love our evening walk in the park, but don’t seem to understand why it is that we must rest on the bench of the picnic table where they must sit and be quiet. Three young hawks have been growing fast. Only the youngest chick still sits in the nest and it should be out any day. Others watch the nest too and there is often a small crowd with raised binoculars, all of whom worry about the fate of this family. We have become casual friends that swap stories, bonded by a certain cottonwood that holds precious cargo.

As we rounded the corner two nights ago on our way home, an adult Cooper’s Hawk sailed low across the street in front of me, only two houses north of my home. It was close enough for me to see the limp body of a bird clutched in its talons that was undoubtedly dinner for its chicks. It was; however the bubbling call of a mobbing parent that really got my attention, a frantic Western Kingbird unable to defend its young from a feathered predator – MY kingbird. It’s quiet now in the old ash tree. The kingbird parents bubble occasionally but haven’t delivered insects to the nest, at least none that I have observed now that nest watching has become ever more of an obsession.

At the large nest in the cottonwood, three other babies will live, at least for a while longer. For raptors as for the kingbirds, mortality is high. Only 1 in 4 will survive to adulthood, victims of poorly learned hunting skills, too much confidence in humans, collisions with vehicles or windows, or other accidents.

One of the most common calls we receive at Hawks Aloft is from someone who wants to have a predatory Cooper’s Hawk or Great Horned Owl removed from their property because the bird is preying on ‘their’ backyard birds. It doesn’t work that way in nature. When we create an ideal environment and stock it with food daily we attract not only the animals we desire, but those that feed higher on the food chain. If a predator is removed from this environment, one of two things will happen: there will be a population explosion that might lead to disease, or another predator will claim the territory as its own.

At my house, after two days of intensive kingbird watching, it was with sadness that I had given up on this year’s nest. This article was written and ready to send off. When I went out to move the garden hose a few minutes ago, there she was, a bright yellow female pumping insects into the still invisible chicks in the nest! All along, I had been watching the wrong nest! The active nest was snuggled into the very center of the tree in an area still vibrant with vegetation. I wonder if anything will get done in the coming days as I wait for nature to unfold.

Babes in the Woods

Northern Mockingbird. Photo by Doug Brown

Just another day in field, this time near the end of the nesting season. My expectations were low, particularly because this area had been mechanically cleared, leaving either an open, weedy field, or a cottonwood forest mostly devoid of understory vegetation. That, combined with the weariness that results from too many very early mornings, and the impending July heat and humidity, left me dreading the next three hours it would take to complete the survey. I trudged out to the start point, dutifully arriving before sunrise and, looking to the east, visually confirmed that this would be yet another futile exercise in negative data collection.

But, as I slowly traversed the transect line, my ears thrilled to the calls of birds that make a living on the edge: forest edge, meadow edge, and the interface that connects them. The first surprise was the call of a bird I’d never before heard at this site, a Northern Mockingbird. And, it sounded none too pleased. Scanning with my binoculars, I found the bird with a large bug firmly clamped in its bill calling for its fledgling. The youngster quickly responded, getting a bit of breakfast, and then diving into the shrubs nearby. Suddenly, Mom (or Pop) took offense at the presence of another bird, shrieking a warning and taking chase. Each time the hapless intruder tried to land, the mockingbird dove on it, shrieking a warning. They moved, snag to snag, tree to shrub, as Mom harassed the other, as yet unidentifiable, bird until it moved beyond the invisible line that formed the mockingbird’s territory, the area it had claimed for its own family.

My curiosity aroused by the scuffle, I scanned for the loser of the battle. It was an American Kestrel, the smallest North American falcon and normally not a threat to a mockingbird which is almost the same size. However, this falcon also was a fledgling, one of three young that the kestrel parents had produced. Although certainly no threat to the mockingbirds, the little falcon was getting a lesson in territory boundaries, not to be crossed with impunity. Each time the little falcon landed, the mockingbird stooped and the falcon ducked, before taking off for a safer perch. Soon it was joined by its siblings and the three nosily flew from tree to tree, practicing takeoffs, turns, dives, and precarious landings. Carefree, with no worries, but with new knowledge of the invisible territory fence to the south, these kestrels were unaware of all other dangers, and secure in their assumption that food would be forthcoming via their parents indefinitely.

Before I moved beyond the kestrel family, however, Mom coyote took exception to my presence in her territory. She howled; she barked; she warned. Now, I had intruded beyond her invisible territory line, and was a potential threat to her babies, who also were out of their den and beginning to explore their new world. She stayed with me, always out of sight behind a shrub, incessantly barking. Mentally, I tried to let her know that I bore her family no ill will and that I would soon pass by. My silent message, “Please stop! I mean you no harm, and I can’t hear any bird calls with all this racket.” It did no good. She kept up her noisy vigil until I passed beyond the boundary line on the other side of the territory.

Moving into the woods, my first sight was of Dad Cooper’s Hawk carrying prey toward the nest, pursued by three noisy, begging fledglings. Although I couldn’t see the nest antics as the youngsters squabbled for food, it was easy to envision the action. One baby hawk secured the prize while the other two loudly expressed their displeasure, moving to nearby perches and resuming their endless whiny, begging calls. At this time in their lives, their food demands are so great that it takes the combined efforts of both parents to hunt for enough prey to satisfy their offspring. (Cooper’s Hawks are primarily bird-eating hawks and it takes an average of 67 robin-sized birds to successfully rear a single young). Eventually, the din subsided as the hawk babies turned their attention to exploring their new, forested world, and I resumed counting birds.

As I began to near the forest edge, however, a fierce ‘killy-killying’ broke through the otherwise peaceful reverie of compatible bird calls. Killy! Killy! KILLY! Clearly, the kestrel family was on the attack, and based on the decibel levels, it was a substantial effort to eject a perceived threat. It wasn’t until I cleared the forest edge that I was able to see the source of their distress, a fledgling Cooper’s Hawk that had dared to fly beyond its forest territory and had perched in a branch on the edge of the opening. Coops are mortal enemies of kestrels who are just about the right size for prey. However, baby Coop had no idea yet, that he/she would ever had to hunt for food. He also was unaware that .
his territory ended at the edge of the forest. There the little hawk sat, with the supreme confidence of a toddler, completely exposed in a foreign land. Clearly, he had a few lessons left to learn.

Mortality rates in the avian world run high. About 7 of every 10 youngsters do not survive to one year. Although they are biologically equipped with survival tools, hunting, flight, and a healthy fear of humans are learned skills. As I watch the young of the year bumble along, the avian equivalent of toddlers-on-the-loose, I am amazed that any of them survive. The ones that do, learn their lessons quickly for, in the wild, a single mistake might be the last one they ever make.

Little Robin Redbreast

American Robin family. Photo by Don Bartram.

Little Robin Redbreast sat upon a tree
Up climbed pussycat and down went he,
Down came pussycat, away Robin ran.
Says little Robin Redbreast, “Catch me if you can.”

Little Robin Redbreast flew upon a wall,
Pussycat jumped after him, and almost had a fall.
Little Robin chirped and sang and what did Pussy say?
Pussycat said, “Mew,” and Robin flew away.

– Mother Goose

The subject of myth and folklore, the robin has been popular in literature worldwide for hundreds of years. The robin is often viewed as a symbol of peace, charity and compassion and the origin of its red breast has inspired countless tales. There is one story of how the robin plucked a thorn from the crown that pierced Jesus’ forehead as he was on his way to be crucified, accidentally piercing his own breast, and staining his feathers red. Another tale tells that the robin’s breast was singed while the bird was fanning the fire to warm baby Jesus.

Robins are often viewed as indicators of spring. Their presence is a sure sign that soon birdsong will fill the air, trees and shrubs will burst forth with verdant vegetation, and all life will be renewed. They are viewed as a peaceful bird, minding their own business, pulling up worms, and caring for their families. Their image graces countless note cards, Christmas cards, and advertisements, a symbol that all is well. But, are fact and fiction one in the same with regard to the robin?

Our American Robin (Turdus migratorius), the bird that we see gracing cards, is actually a member of the thrush family (Turdidae), and closely related to bluebirds, mockingbirds, and Townsend’s Solitaire. It is found throughout North America, although the northernmost populations migrate south for the winter. It is not the bird of European literature. To the rest of the world, robins are small members of the flycatcher family. The European Robin (Erithacus rubecula), subject of much literature, is a small insect-eating songbird now considered to be an Old World flycatcher (Muscicapidae). That robin has a bright orange breast instead of red, and is found across Europe, east to Western Siberia and south to North Africa. The term Robin also is given to other species of birds with red breasts, including the Australian red robins of the genus Petroica, which are more closely related to crows.

Now that you are thoroughly numbed by the above paragraph and nodding off toward an extended nap, let’s think about the peaceful part. In general, we rarely see more than one or two robins and their families hopping about in our yards during the spring and summer. That’s because the male of the pair has ferociously defended your yard from all challengers. Only he and his mate can peacefully occupy that territory. This is not to say that there will be no challenges from others, for each robin must maintain enough precious habitat with an adequate food supply and interlopers lurk, waiting for their chance, that moment of inattention when Daddy Robin is looking the other way and the mealworm pan is left unattended.

Earlier this month, I watched a fierce battle over the less than desirable territory of my back yard (at least in my opinion). The two males stabbed with their beaks and grabbed with their feet until one fell from high in the elm tree to land on the ground on his back. That must have hurt! A few days later, I found a dead male in the front yard. Could they have battled to the death? It is a simple matter of survival for the male, his mate, and their offspring. And raise families, they do. A pair of robins can produce up to three clutches of young a year.

Then, there is the myth that robins are harbingers of spring. While this is true for those who live in northern states and Canada, New Mexico actually has far more robins during the winter than the breeding season. Those northern robins head south in search of food. It seems logical that xeric New Mexico cannot hold enough worms and other insects to feed all those wintering robins. So, some other food source must be the attractant. Those of you who have towering Russian olives in your yard, or a tangle of pyracantha with 6" thorns just waiting to shred your skin are the reason the robins thrive in our arid landscape. Berries are a vital part of their diet and both pyracantha and Russian olive hold their berries until they are eaten.

Robins thrive in an urban environment like your back yard. Populations appear stable or are increasing throughout their range. But, because the robin often feeds on insects in lawns, it is vulnerable to pesticide poisoning and can be an important indicator of chemical pollution. So, next time you are worried about that perfect lawn, do your wallet and a bird a favor and skip the pesticide company.

I was once lucky enough to have pair of robins build their nest on my front porch and I was able to spy on them from the safety of the bedroom window, in essence having a front row seat to watch the antics, fun for me but deadly serious to them. Even though they are a common bird, they can be uncommonly entertaining. I found a 10 minute film clip that shows robin family rasing a family from start to finish. Check it out.

Burrowing Owl Release, Santa Fe, NM

Fledgling biologist, Malcolm Kellermueller, releasing Burrowing Owls that were mitigated and relocated from a construction site in Santa Fe, New Mexico by Hawks Aloft, Inc. The owls were safely excavated from prairie dog burrows, and relocated to an adjacent lot that had an active prairie dog colony with vacant burrows for them to utilize.

All About Baby

American Robin
Photo by David Powell

You might have heard the old myth, the one that says you can’t put a baby bird back in its nest because the mother will smell the human scent and reject it. Today, avian savvy folks know that this just isn’t true, as evidenced by solid data. We also know that branching is a normal stage for baby birds of all species. This is the time when they have left the nest, but are not yet able to fly.

At this time, the parents are still caring for their young, although many young birds run into problems at this time of their life cycle due to cats, dogs, vehicles, and human intervention.
Yes, it’s true. This is the time when well-meaning humans notice those unflighted youngsters, think they have been abandoned, and KIDNAP them. They gather up the avian equivalent of a toddler, put it in a box and begin calling rescue groups looking for help for their “orphan”. We, along with wildlife rehabilitation groups nationwide, receive loads of call each spring and summer from frantic humans looking for other humans to take care of baby.

Flash back to Memorial Day 2008. It had been a gloriously long, full day of hiking in the Ojito Wilderness Area with friends, but I was tired that evening. While I reclined on my sofa, watching the news, I heard frantic shouting in my Rio Rancho back yard. Puzzled, I arose to investigate the cause of all the commotion. A male voice shouted,

“Gail! Gail! GAIL!”

Neighbor John leaned over the fence looking very relieved. Seems he had found a baby robin running around in his back yard, and felt the need to rescue it. Shortly, he produced a small cardboard, holding a small, very confused fledgling robin. We talked about nature, and how it was best to leave them be, but John wasn’t having any of that! Proudly, he handed over the box.

I waited until he went indoors, and promptly opened the box to set the little one on the ground near some dense shrubbery. My logic was that since our yards were adjacent, surely Mama Robin would hear her baby only 20 feet further away in the next yard. But, the baby didn’t cheep, or beg, or do anything except stare at me. I hid behind the door, peeking out every once in a while. After 30 minutes or so, baby was no longer visible. A few minutes after that, a plaintive cheep, cheep, cheep arose from the shrubs.

It was about then that I began to doubt all the literature, as well as my hands-on experience, and the worry set in. It was windy that evening, terribly windy. What if Mom could not hear her little one calling? After all, I hadn’t seen a robin in my yard in days, nor had I heard one. What if I had made a terrible mistake? The cheeping went on; the wind kept blowing, and I knew that I had done the WRONG thing.

Just before dark, I heard an adult robin call. But the irrational worry didn’t end there. In fact, it continued for three days, even though I was now noticing robins foraging in my yard every day. But, there was still no sign of baby. Maybe one of the neighborhood cats got him.
Finally, three days later, when I looked out my back window, there he was, and quite proud of himself too. With a stubby little tail, and half-grown wings, he had climbed up to the lofty height of about 2 feet in a sand sage. He preened; he stretched; he exuded confidence as only the very young can. Mama Robin returned and stuffed a giant worm down his throat.

All was well. There was nothing to worry about! Really! I knew that it would work out just as I intended. Whew! I hope that particular issue doesn’t happen again anytime soon.

Speaking of orphans: Hawks Aloft has already placed one Cooper’s Hawk fledgling back into its nest at an apartment complex in Albuquerque. Its kidnappers had driven it all the way to the Wildlife Center in Espanola, where it spent four days in captivity while we coordinated its return to its natural parents. Coordination meant working together to get baby back to Albuquerque, as well as assistance from our friends at PNM who donated the use their bucket truck and crew. Fortunately, there were two other siblings in the nest so the parents were still in attendance. Baby settled in nicely and, when our biologist checked on it an hour later, all three were being fed by Mom. This particular hawk baby just got an early lesson in human avoidance.

If you find a feathered baby bird on the ground, observe it from a distance to see if it is being attended by its parents. If the bird is constantly begging and the parents are not responding, only then should it be caught and taken to a wildlife rehabilitation organization. If, however, you find a naked baby bird on the ground, try to return it to its nest. If that isn’t possible, line a berry basket or shallow plastic container with some ventilation holes punched in the bottom with paper towels or tissue to simulate a nest and securely fasten that to the tree as high as you can place it. If the nestling is in danger of being harmed by pet animals, then capture it and call a wildlife rehabilitator.

The two largest rehabilitation groups in New Mexico are the Wildlife Center, Espanola, at 575-753-9505, and Wildlife Rescue, Albuquerque 344-2500.

Brave New World

Golden Eagle Chick. Photo by Ron Kellermueller

Perhaps it was a tussle over a food delivery. Or sibling rivalry. Maybe it was an ordinary exercise session gone amok, the furious pre-flight flapping that strengthens flight muscles in preparation for the aerial maneuvers that will come later. We will never know the real cause of the eaglet’s premature descent from her lofty nest. The wise biologist who had been watching the nest all season knew, however, that there should have been two eaglets still inside the safety of the sizeable stick fortress in which they had been born. The biologist began his search, and easily located the large female chick huddled in natal position on the ground, a behavior common to most unfledged nestlings. With only half-grown flight feathers, she was definitely too young to be out, yet putting her back was a physical impossibility. She would not be flighted for another week or so. Her chances for survival? Reasonable, particularly because she was already quite large, and few animals would attempt to prey on a chick of this size, particularly with defensive parents in the immediate vicinity.

Great Horned Owls do not build nests. As the earliest nesting species other than eagles, they merely select their preferred nest, add a nest lining, and set up housekeeping. Unfortunately, they are not known for their ability to select structurally sound nests. Many disintegrate as the young begin to move around. Such was the case of the nest watched by the female biologist, but its demise was particularly early, when the nestlings were only about 2 weeks old, still covered in gray down, and far too early to expect survival of the young. Two diligent searches a week apart failed to reveal any evidence of survival and this nesting attempt was declared failed. One month later, however, a songbird biologist conducting a survey in the same area called to ask if there had been a Great Horned Owl nest because he had seen two fledged owls and their attentive mother. Interestingly, the sighted trio was within 50 feet of the original nest.

The transmission line that runs through Ted Turner’s Armendaris Ranch bears a special name, “Maternity Row”, bestowed by ranch manager, Tom Waddell. Nearly every transmission tower holds at least one nest, and on average, there is an active nest on one of every two towers. Most are ravens, but Swainson’s and Red-tailed Hawks also crowd into the premium high-rise district. Management practices on this expansive ranch, just east of Elephant Butte Reservoir, are intended to foster healthy populations of all wildlife. The Chihuahuan desert ranch positively teams with life in all shapes and sizes, from large ungulates including Oryx, pronghorn, and bison, to endangered turtles, prairie dogs, Burrowing Owls, bats, and cicadas. In fact, I had never before seen so many cicadas in my life. It was a smorgasbord of food, enough for everyone even the sizeable families of quail with golf ball-sized young speeding along on invisible legs.

We were there to look for a particular nest, one that held two very precious nestlings, the first of their kind in New Mexico – Aplomado Falcon – another species that does not build nests, but generally uses existing nests in oversized yuccas. However, when a bird is reared on a wooden structure, perhaps it views that as the most desirable nest location. One tower held a smallish nest, located in the shade of the crossarms above. It was insignificant in size compared to the others, but I got the scope out just in case. As I watched through the lens, one tiny white fuzzy head bobbed above the nest rim, soon joined by another. Precious cargo here, watched and loved by ranch management and biologist alike, a success story just one year following the first release of 11 young, by the Peregrine Fund in August 2006. Chances of survival for these two chicks are mixed. Birds that attempt nesting when they, themselves, are less than one year old, may not be sufficiently skilled hunters to provide for their young. Here, however, watchful human eyes keep a close, but distant eye on the nest, and food limitations are certainly not a problem.

The woman called to tell me that she and her family had discovered a nest with five featherless nestlings on their boat. She wasn’t asking for information, just telling me about her discovery. As politely as possible, I asked how they had handled the situation and suggested that the best thing to do was to either return the nest to an area very near where the boat had been or to transport them to a wildlife rehabilitator. Her response was to say that they had already driven five miles before the discovery and did not want to take the time to put them back. Instead, they had placed the nest on the ground under the shade of a tree (five miles away from the original location). The disastrous phone call continued as the woman went on to tell me that ‘these birds’ need to learn not to build their nests on people’s boats. So ‘these young’, species unknown, had no chance for survival, and indeed the woman reported that by the next morning only the centermost nestling was still alive. I still haven’t figured out why she felt the need to display her ignorance in this way.

Many chicks of all species end up on the ground before they can fly. It is a stage called ‘branching’ and the young are indeed quite vulnerable at this stage even though it is part of their normal life cycle. The parents continue to feed and care for their young, while at the same time, teaching them to find and consume appropriate food. Most baby birds, especially those that have almost all of their feathers do not need to be rescued.

Another myth is that a mother will reject a baby that has been handled by humans because of the human scent. This is not true. If you can find the nest, the best thing to do is to put the youngster back into the nest. If you cannot find the nest, which is probable because birds hide their nests for protection, then you can build a nest to hold the baby bird.

Find a margarine tub, or similar shape and puncture it with drainage holes. Line it with tissue for support and warmth. Nail the container to the tree as close as possible to where the bird was found, making sure that the location will remain shaded and protected as the sun moves. Watch for a parent to find the nestling and continue to care for it. Monitor for at least two hours. If you still have concerns, contact a wildlife rehabilitator. Two different groups are within an hour’s drive of Jemez Springs. The Wildlife Center, (505-753-9505) located in Espanola, takes all kinds of animals including bears, mountain lions, reptiles, bats, and birds. In Albuquerque, Wildlife Rescue (505-344-2500) takes all species of birds, as well as some small mammals. If you have an injured or orphaned raptor, Hawks Aloft (505-828-9455) will assist you in making sure that the bird gets to a rehabilitator.

Of the four vignettes above, three sets of young were not in need of human interference. Only in the case of the last incident, should humans have taken a different course of action.