Season's First Junco

Every autumn, I eagerly await the return of the dark-eyed juncos. While I'm not entirely thrilled that these birds foretell winter, I can't help but adore their perky behavior, sleek plumage, and energetic personalities - they are the perfect birds to brighten any winter day. This year, however, the very first junco I saw was absolutely the last way I wanted to see one.

I was backing out of the garage, and I routinely stop in the driveway to ensure the door lowers and fasten my seatbelt. While doing so, I glanced up at the roof, and saw a bird sitting all too still and in too unusual a posture to be a positive sign - it must have hit one of the vaulted windows at the roof's peak, windows that I alternately love for their uniqueness and brightness, but hate for instances such as this.

Unwilling to leave the bird languishing on the roof - though by the stillness I assumed it was too late for any help - I stopped the truck and stepped out onto the running board for a better view. I realized the bird hadn't been killed by the impact; I could see slight motion that indicated breathing, though the bird was bowed and its bill was resting on the roof. Despite having an appointment to keep, I didn't hesitate to turn off the truck, reopen the garage, and wrestle with the ladder to reach that part of the roof. I had a bird rescue kit standing by, and quickly I was just a few feet away, examining the first dark-eyed junco I'd seen in months.

The bird was indeed breathing, and its left eye was open (I couldn't see the right side). While its bill was resting on the shingles, there was no apparent discharge or visible injury other than a single mussed feather. The wings were not drooping, and the bird seemed aware of my presence, though unwilling to move much. That changed in an instant, however, as I reached out to gently cup the bird (while balanced on the ladder, mind you), and it protested - vigorously - with chirping and fluttering. I released it, and it flew further up the roof, lightly bonking on the window again before resting on another section of the roof. As this new perch gave me a view of its other side, I finished climbing the ladder so I could examine the bird further. There were still no signs of obvious injuries, and the fact that it could fly, however unsteadily, was an excellent sign.

I stayed on the roof with the bird for several minutes, speaking to it gently and noting its breathing and posture. After a few minutes, the bird was more alert, and finally fluttered up to a branch where it was better concealed than on the roof - our neighborhood does have resident hawks, and I was worried that a stunned junco would be an easy breakfast. I watched for another minute or two to be sure it was able to balance and cling well, then made my way down the ladder and only slightly late to my appointment. When I got home a couple of hours later, the bird had vanished, but within hours it - or another junco - appeared at the feeders, fit and healthy.

Windows can be fatal to birds, and I take all the steps I can to keep mine safe. No system is perfect, and we must always be ready when an accident happens. In this case, the ending was a happy one - may it be so for others.

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Your Bird Feeding Is Now Irrelevant

Hand-feeding birds is perhaps one of the most amazing experiences any backyard birder can have, but recently, I went beyond offering a peanut to a western scrub-jay or a handful of Nyjer to a flock of pine siskins (both of which I've done, successfully). I fed an emu.

Okay, admittedly, the emu wasn't in my backyard (wow, what a yard bird that would be!), but one could consider Tracy Aviary just as much a part of my extended backyard as anywhere in the state of Utah. My family has an annual membership to the aviary - an organization we are always happy to support - and we visit frequently. Each visit is a treat, exploring the different exhibits, and often feeding the ducks as we leave.

We have stayed for the aviary's regular shows a couple of times, and have seen different demonstrations and acts; I even once was the perch for Phoenix, the aplomado falcon. But during this visit, we were approached by one of the keepers and asked if we'd like to help out without the show. The seasonal shows have ended, but one bird in particular - Sydney, the aviary's star emu - still needs to practice his act. It's a simple bit, when he runs out from a holding area to munch out of his bowl, then returns to the holding area. But as the keeper explained, if Sydney doesn't have regular practice, he forgets his routine and may refuse to eat otherwise, since he's not used to snacking in other ways.

What a treat! I held the bowl and offered Sydney his fruit, and I was all a-quiver to be so close to such an amazing bird (and grateful that we'd actually brought along the camera that day!). Incidentally, he eats a variety of chopped up fruit - apples, blueberries, grapes and the like. Being so close, I was also able to see the visual acuity he uses in choosing food, as he opted almost exclusively for lighter-colored foods (that would be more visible in the black bowl) first. Of course, he did pick it clean!

I love all my backyard birds, of course, and offering food to them is never dull. But somehow, the experience isn't quite the same when the bird's head is as large as your hand and it's fixated on whamming its bill into the bowl as quickly as possible... Ah, birds.

Sentinel

If you've been reading this blog for some time, it can't have escaped you how much I enjoy my resident California quail - from the visiting coveys that pick over my deck, to the summertime family flocks with darling chicks, to the crazy antics of various individuals I can come to recognize. Yet no matter how much I watch these birds, or how much I think I know them, they can always surprise me.

One such surprise was just a few days ago on the walk leading up to our front door. The sidewalk is wide and separated from the driveway by a thick bed of evergreen plantings that numerous birds like to take advantage of, and I've often seen the quail scurry for cover into the pines. I've even witnessed them occasionally pluck berries for a quick snack, or scratch in the dirt seeking out insects and other random seeds.

What I hadn't seen before, however, was a sentinel so dedicated as to not move for nearly an hour. An adult male was standing guard in the middle of that walk, perfectly still, as other quail were quietly roosting in the scrub. My husband and I were working in our large family room and could peer out the front window to check, and the quail was looking about, but not overly concerned. There were no signs of injury, disorientation, or trauma, and indeed, he was just watching out for the covey.

I've seen guard birds before, keeping watchful eyes and a tense demeanor as a flock forages, but the rest of the quail were roosting, and this lone bird was in no way stressed or anxious; he was just there. In the middle of the sidewalk, out in the open and highly visible, but highly content.

It thrills me no end that the quail are so at peace while visiting my yard that they can feel so secure and unmolested. To see wild birds so gentle and relaxed can't help but be relaxing to me, and it is why I work so hard to keep my yard a safe place for them to visit. And while they're welcome to stand guard as long as they deem it necessary, I'll always be watching out for them as well.