the birds
Standing in front of the Del Monte Hotel waiting for my friend Sharron to pick me up for dinner last night, I noticed a small black bird (grackle? starling? something more sinister? I don't know, I'm not that good at id'ing birds) land on the top arm of one of the old-style glass-globed street-lights lining the drive. The bird had some small bunch of detritus pinched in its' beak but was making small chirrup-type noisees from its' throat; I could see the throat flexing. The detritus might have been twigs for nesting material, as it looked too stiff to be worms or such. The bird sat on the arched metal arm of the light-post for five minutes and took its' eyes off of me for a grant total of thirty seconds. Then it launched itself to a taller lamp-post across the drive and repeated its inspection of me from a theoretically safer distance. I must have passed the inspection, because it returned to the closer, shorter lamp-post and after a few moments of hesitation darted into the back of the tall ornamental, evenly-trimmed evergreen set between the light-post and the wall of the hotel. As it sat with most of its body buried in evergreen except for its long tail-feather (exposed to all the world), I heard the sqwauks of baby birds. The nest was perfectly hidden, and if I hadn't noticed the odd behavior of the parent bird, I probably would never have noticed the nest and the otherwise quiet babies. When the feeding, or re-nesting, or both, was done, the parent bird returned to the light-post, studied me again, and then flew off.
Without the bird to watch, my attention wandered. My phone rang, Sharron running a little bit late. I made a joke about watching the fascinating Rochester wildlife and said I'd see her when she arrived. As we hung up, I caught a flash of black out of the corner of my eye, descending to the sidewalk slightly farther away from me than the light-post.
This was a smaller bird of the same time as the previous, I assume the first one's mate. It was attacking a chipmunk I hadn't noticed on the walkway. The bird jabbed its beak at the arch of the chipmunk's spine. The chipmunk sort of jumped sideways towards the grass line, but didn't dash away the way a chipmunk normally would. The bird jabbed again at the same spot. The chipmunk jumped again and disappeared into the flowers on that side of the evergreen. The bird waited a second and then flew up and entered the nest.
A few minutes later, the first parent bird returned with more material in its beak. Watched me from the top of the light-post again. Flitted around to the nest, but didn't enter. There was a quick chirrup from inside, then silence again. The bird with the material in its beak left the tree and settled on the peak of the portico over the hotel's front door.
Another few minutes passed. The bird that had attacked the chipmunk finally left the nest with a swoop and shot, low and fast, across the drive, over the property wall and out of sight. The bird on the portico's peak flew into the next, and the babies greeted it raucously.
Just before Sharron arrived to take me to dinner, a spot of light brown among the green between the tree and light-post caught my eye. The chipmunk lay there, eyes closed, front paws gathered under its head like it was taking a nap or deep in prayer. Exposed to predators, and not moving at all; I got a bit closer and could not see any evidence of chest-rise-and-fall. Someone unfamiliar with typical chipmunk behavior might have thought it was napping and not dead.
The cycle of life in the wild, of not just predation but killing for the sake of protecting the young, is not relegated to the deeply wooded or plained or watered places. It happens in a driveway in the middle of a suburb of Rochester NY on a late spring evening.
Without the bird to watch, my attention wandered. My phone rang, Sharron running a little bit late. I made a joke about watching the fascinating Rochester wildlife and said I'd see her when she arrived. As we hung up, I caught a flash of black out of the corner of my eye, descending to the sidewalk slightly farther away from me than the light-post.
This was a smaller bird of the same time as the previous, I assume the first one's mate. It was attacking a chipmunk I hadn't noticed on the walkway. The bird jabbed its beak at the arch of the chipmunk's spine. The chipmunk sort of jumped sideways towards the grass line, but didn't dash away the way a chipmunk normally would. The bird jabbed again at the same spot. The chipmunk jumped again and disappeared into the flowers on that side of the evergreen. The bird waited a second and then flew up and entered the nest.
A few minutes later, the first parent bird returned with more material in its beak. Watched me from the top of the light-post again. Flitted around to the nest, but didn't enter. There was a quick chirrup from inside, then silence again. The bird with the material in its beak left the tree and settled on the peak of the portico over the hotel's front door.
Another few minutes passed. The bird that had attacked the chipmunk finally left the nest with a swoop and shot, low and fast, across the drive, over the property wall and out of sight. The bird on the portico's peak flew into the next, and the babies greeted it raucously.
Just before Sharron arrived to take me to dinner, a spot of light brown among the green between the tree and light-post caught my eye. The chipmunk lay there, eyes closed, front paws gathered under its head like it was taking a nap or deep in prayer. Exposed to predators, and not moving at all; I got a bit closer and could not see any evidence of chest-rise-and-fall. Someone unfamiliar with typical chipmunk behavior might have thought it was napping and not dead.
The cycle of life in the wild, of not just predation but killing for the sake of protecting the young, is not relegated to the deeply wooded or plained or watered places. It happens in a driveway in the middle of a suburb of Rochester NY on a late spring evening.