Sunday Morning Miscellany

From my desk here at home I can see the hummingbird and oriole feeders, the wrens coming and going further down the porch where their skull is, and the Woods' tree off to the right, close enough to see the nest hole and their attendance thereat. Outside the window at left is the oak tree where the titmice frequently nest and where the scrub jays hang; of late, it's also a favorite spot of the bobwhite, who's out there even as I type. The hummingbirds have a party going on this morning; they're going crazy around the feeders while Mr Scott's cleaning and fluffing in the cedar tree directly in front of me (it was a wet and probably chilly night). Hugh is angry at the mourning doves which are constantly at the birdfeeders. They are there so often and in such numbers that we've started chasing them off when we see them so the other, littler birds can have their turns. We have a couple of squirrels who visit regularly, too, but I'm convinced that the doves are the reason we now have to fill the feeders every other day.

Last night I discovered who's been breaking into the sunflower seed container outside our bedroom door. Before bed I'd brought the seed inside; around midnight I heard snuffling and small steps and looked up to see a little masked raccoon face. This morning the black-crested titmouse above was finishing up the last of the seeds from Friday night's raid. The juvenile below was by the feeder. I love how they sit with their little feet together to hold the seeds while they eat. I am curious about the black mark on this guy's left cheek. His right doesn't have one, nor do the other titmice; my guess is that it's temporary and will go away as he grows up.

I Owe Hugh Fifty Cents

Prehistoric cries!
Parent woodpeckers on tree;
Babes are heard, not seen.

I Owe Hugh a Quarter

I suspect this is the case, even though the day is not quite over yet.

We're Almost There

I'm tired and have it in me to comment only briefly. We watched the tree for a while this evening. Woodie is sticking very close by to the nest and the little birds are getting louder and more distinct; they have bursts where they suddenly sound like actual birds instead of static or a dog whimper. I bet Hugh a quarter that they're coming out tomorrow.

After the Storm

There was a late afternoon/early evening storm today; the light was incredible, and there was a double rainbow, just barely visible in this photo.

* * * * * * *
Just some of the Fascinating Topics coming soon to a theatre near you!:
Dung Beetles!
Over the Hill
Titmice: Bird Eat Bird?
The Audubon Orioles' Abandoned Nest

Scorpion #6, 2007

11 p.m. Wednesday, on the famed Scorpion Wall perpendicular to the front door.

A small guy, unalarming and unspectacular (with all due respect to Mr S himself). He's spending the night at the kitchen sink motel.

Still No Woodlets

One of my bird books says that it takes 18-30 days for golden-fronted woodpeckers to fledge. It was two weeks ago yesterday that I first heard the woodlets in their tree, so that's sixteen days, at least, and possibly more; maybe they were silent for a few days after birth (she said hopefully). Had I anything with which to record sound, I would log the staticky fuzz that is the woodlets' hungry cry, as well as the sound of Fritz, aka Mr. Loud. It is torture for him to be inside. It is also torture for us to listen to his unending diatribe of meows of varying tones, lengths, and decibel levels. Unlike his brother Hamilton, Fritz is not blessed with a musical, birdlike voice. He has the voice akin to the rusty-gate voice of fairy tale fame (that which is always visited upon the wicked stepsister who is unkind to the heads in the well* or whatever). Suffice it to say that we are counting down the days.

That makes it sound as though it's all about us, though, and it's not. First and foremost are the Woodses—we adore them, and they nest in that tree every year (not the same couple, but we like to think each time that it's one of last year's juniors coming back with its mate), and we love the fact of bird-nesting and can't wait to see the babies. Secondly, it's about the parents' unceasing feeding and caretaking—isn't it just exhausting for them to spend their entire days in nonstop hunting of food for their offspring? Do they not deserve a vacation and a meal for themselves?

While Fritz is loud, Hamilton grows fat from confinement (really more from snacking all day on dog food rather than lack of exercise). Hugh kindly took him out for a supervised walk the other evening, which caused no little friction because of course he made a beeline for the Woodie tree. "No," said Hugh, "that is simply the way down the hill," and though we disagree on Ham's intended destination, we do agree that once he gets within earshot of the tree, of course he wants to feast on baby birds. Words were exchanged and cat scooped up and cat walked UP the hill, instead of down, and no more was said about it; but also, proximity to the tree was not allowed again.

*See http://www.authorama.com/english-fairy-tales-46.html, though this is not the version that I know and love; in mine, the heads say: "Wash me and comb me and lay me down gently, that I may be comely for passers to see." In this online version, the heads wish the stepsister the voice of corn-crakes. I don't think corn-crakes can hold a candle to Fritz.

I'm Looking It Up Now

Later:
My butterfly and moth book indicates that this is a Giant Swallowtail. It certainly was pretty giant in person, yes indeed.

I Stalk the Elusive Bobwhite But in the End It Comes to Me

I went out Saturday afternoon to track the elusive bobwhite, who once again was calling in the distance, but to no avail. It did not help that my trusty sidekick Fritz who follows on all walks is a cat. As soon as I hit the trail, the bird shut up, and though we had a very enjoyable hot and lazy walk, the only sightings were a few tail-ends (not bobwhites, though) getting the heck away from us as quickly as they could.

To my surprise, this morning I looked out the bathroom window to see this plump round bird in the tree just beyond the birdfeeders! It kindly waited there while I ran for the camera. No "bob-WHITE!" cries at all, but it stayed in the tree for a brief photo shoot, then flew to the ground to have some sunflower seeds. I am thrilled to have seen him (though I will be more thrilled when I have a chance to photograph it other than through a rather smeary window).

The Mrs Scott's Oriole; Hummingbirds

The Scott's Orioles are very beautiful and very shy. They stick together and come to the oriole feeder on the front porch together. They have an ear-catching—nay, bewitching!—song, but while they eat they make contented, soft little "chkk" noises. Here is the Mrs in a nearby tree.

My hummingbird photos are improving....slowly, very slowly.

The Nesting Wrens

There are several pairs of nesting wrens; one couple has made their home in the skull that hangs on the front porch. Unlike the very loud woodlets whom one can hear from anywhere in the vicinity, we would never know that there are wrenlets in the skull if we did not see the parents going in with food.

The Baby Scrub Jays

The baby scrub jays are scruffy and gangly, with their little gray heads and fluffy under-feathers. I saw three of them at the feeder this morning.

Scorpion #5, 2007

Approximately 4:45 a.m. in the kitchen sink. The scorpions seem to be appearing at an alarming rate this season, but I am observing and learning things as we carry out this Catch-and-Release program. For one thing, in 3 years and all of these sightings, only one of us (well, and Callie, too, now) has been stung.* And I have yet to see one of them so much as strike out and try to sting when approached and scooped—instead, they just want to get away, and I haven't seen one get defensive and aggressive. This guy today, for example—I actually had to enlist tools just to get him into the container, and it was more than the work of but a moment, but he was the nervous, scared one of the two of us. I was pontificating aloud along these lines this morning, after I was dressed and ready to take the little guy out to the hill's edge, and Hugh said,"I think we are doing the right thing with this." I agree.

*Hugh has reminded me that he got stung, too, last year or the year before, but thinks it too must have been a wee one, as the sting was not so bad.

The Bonus Woodlet

Hugh messaged me at work today to say that there was a woodlet in the yucca that's in front of the office window. The actual message, in his excitement, was:

11:11 AM hugh: baby wioody!!!!!
11:12 AM grettin 1000s of photos

We have been waiting and waiting for Woodie & Woodina's woodlets to emerge from their tree, and I was heartbroken not to be there. But then Hugh sent a photo of the baby on the yucca:

and I wrote back to Hugh to say, I don't think juvenile golden-fronted woodpeckers have a red cap. Then I looked at it some more, and wondered what those stripes are on its face; our woodpeckers don't have those. So we realized that this is not one of the woodlets, but a surprise bonus woodlet instead! I did some quick online research and found two possibilities to check in the bird books when I get home: he may be a Downy or a Ladder-backed Woodpecker. Hugh thinks the latter because the stripes are more like, and I think the latter because they are spotty on front as is this guy. We are intrigued! We've not seen an adult of these guys in the area; the golden-fronted are the only ones I've seen at all.

Hugh reported that it seemed uncertain of its flying abilities and was skulking under the eaves of the yucca. I just checked in with him (it's 6pm now) and it is now gone; he didn't see it leave. I hope that we will see this bird again! He must have been born nearby; having just fledged, he couldn't have been just passing through.

Woodpeckers are altricial. From Wikipedia:
In bird and mammal biology, altricial species, or altrices, are those whose newly hatched or born young are relatively immobile, have closed eyes, lack hair or down, and must be cared for by the adults. Altricial young are born helpless and require care for a comparatively long time. Among birds, these include, for example, herons, hawks, woodpeckers, owls and most passerines.

The Elusive Bobwhite Eludes Me

That says it all, I guess. ;-)

However, I can always say more! Only once before have I heard a bobwhite at our house. It was funny, because I knew instantly what it was—Trixie Belden fans will understand. This morning, I heard one again, right outside the window. After the second or third cry, I grabbed the camera and headed outside. Nothing. Then I heard it far down the hill. I went back inside. Soon thereafter, I heard it again, right outside the window. I grabbed the camera and headed outside. Nothing. Then I heard it far down the hill. I went back inside. This happened about 6 times; finally I gave up. But one day I will find it!

This post is dedicated to Amber!

Baby Fawns and Teenage Fawns

This spring, for the first time since we have lived out here, we have been having tiny fawn encounters. That is, encounters with tiny fawns. The first time was about a month ago. Hugh was out of town and friend D came out to visit and have a Sunday beer; in the early evening we took the dogs on a walk down the hill. We went to the little campsite and were heading back to the road when D suddenly grabbed my arm to stop me from walking onto a tiny spotted fawn! It was nestled among some leaves and dead branches and was about the size of a basketball, if not smaller (and definitely not as round). We quickly went the other direction; fortunately the dogs were way ahead of us.

Sometime later that same week, Hugh came upon a little fawn (the same? another?) as well. I was on the patio and heard sudden cries of "JESSIE! NO! JESSIE HERE! JESSIE! JESSIE!" floating up the hillside. I could also hear anxious dashing about hither and yon. When H got back up the hill, he explained that not only had they encountered the fawn, but dog Jessie had chased it (with H in hot pursuit). No harm done, we are happy to report. Well, at least no blood shed; we can't speak for trauma impressed upon tiny fawn consciousness, I guess.

My most recent sighting was this past week. On returning from a walk, I went to look at the flowers in the meadow by the house and suddenly, from amid the tall grass and flowers, leapt up a fawn! Callie was very bad and immediately gave chase, despite my frantic and graphic yelling and chasing of her. Jessie was very, very good and stopped at my first yell. Leashes are going to get involved if certain dogs continue to not listen to me.

The little fawn in the meadow still had its spots but was not as tiny as the first one I'd seen. You know, I've always laughed at the signs that someone puts up each year in Westlake that say "Baby fawns are being born..."—not because of the content, but because of the redundancy of "baby fawns." However, I have come to believe that there are stages of fawnhood and so I laugh no more! Case in point our teenager fawn who's been making him/herself at home around the garden lately. He/she knows no fear—when I went outside to take the photo below, he ran away a few steps, but then just stopped and looked at me, even as I got closer and closer. How do you tell what sex they are? At what age do they begin to grow antlers?

The Storm and the Strange Tracks

Sunday night there was a wild and terrible storm with high winds and much lightning very close by. It was so intense that I got the cat carriers out of the closet and put them near the door at the ready, just in case evacuation was called for. I learned later from our neighbor on the other side of the hill that a "tornado vortex floated right over us". Neighbors a few miles down HPR lost part of their roof, I hear! I was worried about the woodlets but reminded myself how much it has rained, and how hard, this spring, and of course in the bright and beautiful morning after, everything was just as it should be with the Woodses (and we hope with all the other nature babies out there, as well).

This evening when I walked the dogs down the hill, there was water coursing through our sometime-stream, and on the still-damp road at the foot of the hill I found these curious tracks. What made these?? They are quite small--the channels are probably just 1/8" or so wide, maybe some a bit bigger. (I had nothing with me to put down for perspective.)




Update: here's a key in photo for scale.

Scorpion #4, 2007

Sunday night June 3d, approximately 10:30: ON BED. Eek!

I had been reading and was just falling asleep with the light on when something made me open my eyes to see, about one foot from my head, a scorpion! No little baby scorpion such as that which fell on my pillow and stung my chin last year, but a BIG one. It was crawling from the direction of the headboard along the edge of Hugh's pillow (lucky for him, he is in Florida till Wednesday).

This time I was prepared! I grabbed the Scorpion Catch-and-Release container from its nearby post on my dresser and scooped him up in no time. Then I put the container in the sink (in case he escaped from the container, which he couldn't, he wouldn't be able to climb out of the sink). This morning I took him to the edge of the hill, far from the house and far from the Woodlets' nest, and let him go. As he hurried away from me, he paused for a moment, looking back, and waved one little claw at me in sad farewell.

I'll Shut Up About Them When I Get Tired of Them

Two more Woodie photo shoots resulted in a cricket-feeding sighting, as well as a mouthful-of-tiny-bugs sighting (the latter with much last-minute scooping up of more around the hole, which involved some curious head-against-tree maneuvers), and some lovely motion shots.


8.19.2008: How I've never noticed till now that it's a scorpion in his beak in this photo, I don't know—but it is! How cool! I'd recognize that pedipalp anywhere.

More About Woodie

I've been watching the Woodie tree from afar, hiding behind the yucca on the porch. I can hear the babies even at that distance! They get louder whenever one of the parents pops in with food, which they do regularly all day. In addition to the earlier bug meal, I've seen them arrive with two different kinds of berries:



They fly over with full beaks, land on the tree, scope out the area, move over to the hole, and then go in. I am fascinated by what happens afterwards--not every time, but sometimes. The parent (who, now that I think about it, seems to be Woodie, not Woodina, most frequently--you can tell by the red spot on the top of his head) pokes his head back out and opens his mouth several times. In the shots below you can just see his tongue. What the hell is he doing? Cleansing his palate? After a bit of that, he flies out and goes back to the hangout tree.



It kills me that these photos are not better. I will try again this evening when there's more activity again (things quiet down somewhat during the afternoon).