I typically do not write about birds. As you know, these weekly discussions usually center on smashing one's cell phone with a sledgehammer, the toxic dangers of breakfast cereal, and what it truly means to be a man. Birds are not my usual forte. But the truth is, I love birds. Anything that can take flight and glide effortlessly deserves a nod. Plus, they tend to eat insects, rodents and (possibly) domesticated housecats - everything in life that is wretched and despised.
I have always loved birds. On a recent motorcycle trip to the Great Lakes, I watched entranced as a bald eagle circled majestically above Lake Superior. Growing up on the farm, I kept score as hawks would dive-bomb unsuspecting field mice as I raked hay. Looking up, I could literally see as many as three hawks in staggered flight patterns, each patiently waiting their turn for a meal. In the dairy barn, swallows tend to their mud nests. I have a pair that have gained my trust; leaning against a gate, I am within arms reach. Swallows are possibly my favorite birds, the P-51 Mustangs of the sky. They come screaming in at high speed, careening just inches over the ground. When their young first take flight, the parents drop down feathers from height while the juveniles take turns catching and releasing the feather in midair. Fascinating.
Don't worry; I'm getting somewhere with these ornithological perspectives. Just two weeks ago, I noticed a pair of killdeer in my driveway. They would scurry about, as killdeer do, cry their high-pitched "kill-DEER," and then fly away. I thought nothing of it, except that they didn't leave. They were always there, scuttling about in my gravel driveway. As time wore on, I grew intrigued by the pair, ever-present whenever I would pull into my driveway or emerge from the garage. Maybe they have a nest nearby? Again, I gave the killdeer little thought.
Then one day, literally, it was the only nice day in early June, I sat on my deck and watched, totally unprepared for what I discovered. There, in my gravel driveway, nestled in the tire lines, was the killdeer nest. There was no mistake - a tiny indentation where the adult was perched unquestionably marked the spot. Grabbing a lime wedge and a spare Modelo, I went in for a closer look.
Now that I knew where the nest was, the adult killdeer acted differently. They each feigned a broken wing, flopping helplessly away from the nest in pitiful display. They squawked mournfully, trying desperately to lead me from the nest. Sure enough, the tiny indentation I spied was indeed a nest, replete with four speckled eggs. The parents were, by now, putting on quite a show. They cried, begged me to fall for their broken wing trick. Without a word, I turned back toward my house. Instantly, the female scurried to her eggs and, coast clear, resumed her perching.
Several things surprised me about the killdeer nest, not least of which included what the heck were they thinking? I have no idea how I ignorantly avoided it for so long, backing out of and driving into my garage (I now have it marked, and have to consciously correct my driving, so as not to crush it). Along those lines, it is amazing how beautifully concealed the nest is. Without any lining or artificial padding, the eggs were perfectly camouflaged until I was just feet away. By necessity, these birds blend in seamlessly to the surrounding terrain. By contrast, humans erect vinyl-sided atrocities that ooze tumorously from the countryside, in garish contradiction to surrounding nature. If ever there is a monument to temporal false supremacy, the modern-day subdivision is it.
As for the killdeer, I noticed something else. Now, whenever I pull into the driveway, I look at the nest. I mean it no harm, just curious if any of the eggs have hatched. Rather than putting on her trademark broken wing display, the mother now puffs herself up, feathers ruffled, as if to challenge me. She even charges in my direction. I have to laugh - what could she possibly do? Poop on my motorcycle? But, the parental instinct is touching, coming from this tiny, delicate creature.
By contrast, one of my cows calved last week. As is the norm, I separated the mother from baby, for health and safety issues. One day after giving birth, the mother returned to the spot where she had her calf. I happened to be present. She looked at me, her ears out, her eyes soft and inquisitive. She sniffed the bedding, where the calf had been. She then very purposefully turned, and deliberately trotted out to the rest of the herd. Initially I almost felt bad, but her actions were crystal clear. I could literally read her mind, "The babysitter still hasn't returned my kid, so GIRLS' NIGHT!"
Meanwhile, I await patiently for the killdeer eggs to hatch. When born, baby killdeer are precocial - they run and scurry just like their parents. If you have ever seen baby killdeer, you know how irresistibly cute they are. Plus, once they hatch, I will get my driveway back, providing the young do not spend their lives living in their parents' basement.
Like I said at the beginning, I love birds. The fact that I have a killdeer family in my driveway is par for the course. You may be wondering though, about a reference I made in the first paragraph. I mentioned that I love birds because they eat insects, rodents, and housecats. Is this true? Well, as soon as I figure out how to lure a falcon indoors, it very well could be. Any suggestions?
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a weekly column for Friday editions of the Times. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
I have always loved birds. On a recent motorcycle trip to the Great Lakes, I watched entranced as a bald eagle circled majestically above Lake Superior. Growing up on the farm, I kept score as hawks would dive-bomb unsuspecting field mice as I raked hay. Looking up, I could literally see as many as three hawks in staggered flight patterns, each patiently waiting their turn for a meal. In the dairy barn, swallows tend to their mud nests. I have a pair that have gained my trust; leaning against a gate, I am within arms reach. Swallows are possibly my favorite birds, the P-51 Mustangs of the sky. They come screaming in at high speed, careening just inches over the ground. When their young first take flight, the parents drop down feathers from height while the juveniles take turns catching and releasing the feather in midair. Fascinating.
Don't worry; I'm getting somewhere with these ornithological perspectives. Just two weeks ago, I noticed a pair of killdeer in my driveway. They would scurry about, as killdeer do, cry their high-pitched "kill-DEER," and then fly away. I thought nothing of it, except that they didn't leave. They were always there, scuttling about in my gravel driveway. As time wore on, I grew intrigued by the pair, ever-present whenever I would pull into my driveway or emerge from the garage. Maybe they have a nest nearby? Again, I gave the killdeer little thought.
Then one day, literally, it was the only nice day in early June, I sat on my deck and watched, totally unprepared for what I discovered. There, in my gravel driveway, nestled in the tire lines, was the killdeer nest. There was no mistake - a tiny indentation where the adult was perched unquestionably marked the spot. Grabbing a lime wedge and a spare Modelo, I went in for a closer look.
Now that I knew where the nest was, the adult killdeer acted differently. They each feigned a broken wing, flopping helplessly away from the nest in pitiful display. They squawked mournfully, trying desperately to lead me from the nest. Sure enough, the tiny indentation I spied was indeed a nest, replete with four speckled eggs. The parents were, by now, putting on quite a show. They cried, begged me to fall for their broken wing trick. Without a word, I turned back toward my house. Instantly, the female scurried to her eggs and, coast clear, resumed her perching.
Several things surprised me about the killdeer nest, not least of which included what the heck were they thinking? I have no idea how I ignorantly avoided it for so long, backing out of and driving into my garage (I now have it marked, and have to consciously correct my driving, so as not to crush it). Along those lines, it is amazing how beautifully concealed the nest is. Without any lining or artificial padding, the eggs were perfectly camouflaged until I was just feet away. By necessity, these birds blend in seamlessly to the surrounding terrain. By contrast, humans erect vinyl-sided atrocities that ooze tumorously from the countryside, in garish contradiction to surrounding nature. If ever there is a monument to temporal false supremacy, the modern-day subdivision is it.
As for the killdeer, I noticed something else. Now, whenever I pull into the driveway, I look at the nest. I mean it no harm, just curious if any of the eggs have hatched. Rather than putting on her trademark broken wing display, the mother now puffs herself up, feathers ruffled, as if to challenge me. She even charges in my direction. I have to laugh - what could she possibly do? Poop on my motorcycle? But, the parental instinct is touching, coming from this tiny, delicate creature.
By contrast, one of my cows calved last week. As is the norm, I separated the mother from baby, for health and safety issues. One day after giving birth, the mother returned to the spot where she had her calf. I happened to be present. She looked at me, her ears out, her eyes soft and inquisitive. She sniffed the bedding, where the calf had been. She then very purposefully turned, and deliberately trotted out to the rest of the herd. Initially I almost felt bad, but her actions were crystal clear. I could literally read her mind, "The babysitter still hasn't returned my kid, so GIRLS' NIGHT!"
Meanwhile, I await patiently for the killdeer eggs to hatch. When born, baby killdeer are precocial - they run and scurry just like their parents. If you have ever seen baby killdeer, you know how irresistibly cute they are. Plus, once they hatch, I will get my driveway back, providing the young do not spend their lives living in their parents' basement.
Like I said at the beginning, I love birds. The fact that I have a killdeer family in my driveway is par for the course. You may be wondering though, about a reference I made in the first paragraph. I mentioned that I love birds because they eat insects, rodents, and housecats. Is this true? Well, as soon as I figure out how to lure a falcon indoors, it very well could be. Any suggestions?
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a weekly column for Friday editions of the Times. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
