Snoozy birds

An expectant grey feathered face examines me and I wonder if he is aware that the perch in which he stands in the source of his coveted bread. This young one, like many of his siblings, is too young to be interested in the activities that occupy his mother and father, older adult siblings and unrelated “uncles” and “aunts” that are now so occupied with nest building. This leaves me in charge of occupying the nine young ones (aged 7-11 months old) which are in fact, not the focus of my current study.

Usually the young ones occupy themselves with looking for food, preening and play, but as the adults of the group are busy, they approach me with curiosity. They know me as food lady, beholder of the bread, and maybe at their age, they have not properly associated the bread with the ceremonial whistle, sit down and the kitchen scale on which they are asked to stand. Adults know better, and in the absence of the three cues, do not often bother themselves to come ask for food (except for a few sassy ones that try their luck with doleful eyes).

But, as the sun ascends the sky, like birds of many varieties, the fledgling become snoozy and they head up into the protective branches of a gum tree to fluff up besides the adults for their daily afternoon snooze.

Becoming a wild bird

There is something to be said about the camaraderie of having a bird sitting on your knee as you write notes. In reality, I tolerate it little from my birds as the last thing I want is 18 birds climbing all over me like a jungle gym while seeking out bread rewards. But on the rare occasion that it is a single bird that joins me and I am in a contemplative mood patiently awaiting for my focal bird to be ready to start the next step in my experiment, I welcome the feathered companionship. There are many joys to working so closely with social animals. Humans, ourselves being such social creatures, naturally tend towards social relationships (and in very specific forms for many of us), and having the proximity of sociality is pleasing.

As a field biologist, such study species also allows one’s mind to avoid approaching rapid loopiness within the field. I have friends and colleagues that have, in their long hikes, observations and solitude in the field have effectively learned how to melodiously (or rhythmically) play their cheeks, throats, knees and other body parts very well. Poems, broadway songs and jiggles have been written about study species, methods and experimental designs and once, in a particularly long hike with the marked absence of birds, I designed in my mind, an entire bellydance-tribal fusion interpretive dance based (of course) on a sound scape put together solely on apostlebird songs and other naturally occurring sounds within the Outback environment (yes, that is just how talkative the apostlebirds are).

The mind wandering towards an artistic interpretation of one’s research or research site is actually not a bad thing (albeit a bit crazy). It actually allows a researcher to shift perspectives and in the case of dance, think about what birdy body movements occur during birdy behaviour. I myself lacking wings and a large slightly green tinged tail would have to make use of a double layered veil, brown and grey tie-dyed silk on one side, and chiffon forest green on the other, to interpret the vast and variable movements associated with the apostlebird language and movements. The gentle way in which the softness of their downy chests rocks as they walk, balance and move across their terrain would never be brought to justice by my straighter bipedal form. Oh, to have the form of a bird, round in the chest and long in the tail, a delicate frame set on two quick little stilts (or many other forms of legs in the case of different species).

I was once asked why I did not study prettier birds, such as the bejeweled little birds that flit across a tropical jungle landscape or perhaps even the colourful parrots that dot the azure skies of the Outback, sitting high upon the branches of majestic gum trees. My initial response was that brains were better than beauty, and I liked to study clever, sassy birds. However, to me, the apostlebirds and crows are beautiful. In such close proximity to the apostlebirds, I can examine the way the brown and grey feathers blend together across a back that blend well into the dry earth. And how I love that when the sun catches their wings just right, it reflects back an olive green not unlike the green that streaks across the white and brown smooth bark of a gumtree. From the softness of the feathers on their head to their small broad beak that digs for both food and mud for nest building, they are beautiful.

But most importantly to me, is that they are interesting. These birds are communicators, constantly chatting and in constant movement, Even as I type this blog into my computer, I can listen to their night time negotiations (up in the roost tree), and as the sun sets behind the distant hills, I can enjoy both a magnificent view and an amusing acoustic backdrop.

The sociality the birds enjoy is both heartwarming and amusing and also not without tears. Furthermore, their bird psychology holds the workings of their minds just far enough away that most of their behaviour remains a mystery, a mystery that for solving will ensure that slowly, over time, will need to become a wild bird.

Play along the lakeside and interviews with birds

The group favouring the lake (The Lakeland Clan) have also produced many young and among them in Wimyub, playful and bouncy. He likes to wrestle in play with his siblings, and when they are not interested, he will grab a stick or a stone and roll on his back wrestling it and pecking it. Play among these birds is far from rare, as in many other social animals.

When I was younger, growing up on the west coast of Canada, I used to take great pleasure in watching the crows entertain themselves above the local post office. As a small group they would hop back and forth among the rough top making quite a chatter, picking up stick, leaves and hopping about. They would gather said sticks, leaves and rubbish at the edge of the rough and with glee hop back and forth along side the edge of the rough, looking down, all the while making a variety of soft caws and crow clatters. It was amusing to watch, but by far the most amusement derived from what would occur when some unexpecting person, cat, or seagull would pass by under the edge of the roof, for they would be surprised by a small shower of sticks and rubbish falling from the sky. Upon looking up at the source of falling tree debris, they would be met with several pairs of beady eyes and a cacophony of corvid chatter. A would silently chuckle to myself and with each subsequent crow prank, games and chatter, I found myself feeling more and more endeared to these clever corvids.

It is then no surprise that I am so very endeared to the apostlebirds here at the station. They chatter constantly, preen each other, play, forage, jump about and cock their head to the side as they look up at me walking about with them. They are incredibly social, and in many ways remind me of the crows I grew up with, and they have the added advantage that being somewhat desert adapted (arid zone. actually) they have the downy insulated feathers that make them extra fluffy. Add that feature to the roundness that often characterizes birds that spend a big chunk of their lives on the ground, and here we have a round, fluffy, chatty crowlike bird! I do not know how I will ever forget these birds, and part of me knows that whatever direction I take after this PhD I take, a part of my heart will remain with these birds and bind me to them.

Playful in animals is especially endearing, as well as baffling to behaviouralists. To date, although many hypotheses to the adaptive function of play have been put forth, none has been proved* (that I know of, please feel free to email me any journal citations on this topic, as the sad truth to being a scientist is that you will never ever read up on all the topics you want because you are bogged down enough with reading the papers you need to justify your own research findings). It is hard to measure the effects that playing in birds have on survival and reproduction a so many, many behaviours may influence an animals success. But, what I can say is that playing is fascinating, cute and so, so very amusing when I am sitting in the field patiently waiting for my focal bird to come down and once again grace me with his/her presence so that I may ask him a series of short question that give me insight into a bigger question (In this particular case I am asking said bird, “Does the call from this particular individual interest you?” and “ how much do you care” and then “can you tell his call from the same call in another bird?”).

In between my interviews, while my interviewee bird preened, snoozed or helped build the nest, I waited and watched the other birds. The adults would mostly preen, forage and examine and build nests (when it suited) and the fledglings would beg and chase the adults when they were hungry. When they were not hungry, a small group would always approach and look at me (imploring for bread treats), and because their attention spans are short, they would start to play nearby, which left me in the unique position of both birdy-sitter and observer. Oh, and play they did, with stick and stones, leaves and tree rubble, and pretty much anything within sight of the communal snooze tree, where the adults would sit and preen, keeping watchful eyes scanning the sky for aerial predators as well as on the ground for threats such as foxes and feral cats.

Broken gum tree branches are especially fun and provide minutes of entertainment for both young and old (see video below). A bird would jump up and down, flipping the broken branch back and forth, back and forth until something else catches the birds eye. If that fails to entertain, a rock or stick will also provide as a “pecking bag”.

Eventually, my interviewee would once again start his/her seeking of food (which always brought him past my trusty english to apostlebirdese translator (aka “Mr. ten pound speaker”), and my observations of play sessions end, but only for the time being, as in the field another day awaits. This is apostlebird abode.

Video still to come: Playing with the “pecking stone”

Return to the Outback

It is another year to my PhD, and thus another field season, and like last year, I find myself in the beautiful Australian Outback equipped with even more equipment, a field assistant and many hungry and eager apostlebirds. The spring here is still windy and cold most days and the insects have yet to arrive en masse. My birds remain light in mass and somewhat unconditioned for breeding, but last years breeding attempt was extremely fruitful for them and they have many young. Rumby, my sassy bird from last year has tempered with age and now she is not so boldly searching my bag, but rather politely waiting on the scale for her reward. I miss her playfulness but her own children carry her bold exploratory trait, and I enjoy seeing then trot towards me.

The apostlebirds remain in their winter flocks, as in April of this year when I was here last. Except that instead of nine out of 15 social groups, I have ten groups amalgamated into roughly seven groups that flip over ridges, cross mud flats and toy with many, many different locations that for them, are probably not all that far apart, but for me and “Mr. Ten Pound Speaker” plus recording equipment, are not in fact, far apart.

My most stable group right now is the Hopover Clan, consisting of 7 adults and 7 young ones of various ages. Like most apostlebirds in our study population, they are tame enough to feed, weigh on kitchen scales, follow, record and now train to approach as single eager participants in my experiments designed to tease apart how apostlebirds view their own calls. However, Hopover Clan needs to entertain themselves somehow, and they like to play “Hopover-walk around” with me. The game goes like this. I arrive at their humble abode, and they dutifully come down, get on the scales and present their legs for examination of the colourful anklets that identify them. They get bread in reward. If they are not satisfied with the bird-human interaction, they hopover to the other side of the lake, and I then start my trek around the lake. When I finally catch up the birds, they dutifully come down and allow me to count them all. They eat some more bread, poo on my bag, and if they feel like it, they fly back to the other side of the lake. Or, they may take a little snooze in the trees, then hopover the lake.

The end result is a nice walk for me, some recordings and some experimental results, and poo on my bag. Welcome back to Apostlebird Abode.