Real Science Hurts Brains: Crow Edition

Didja know real life is ridiculously complicated?  Even simple things involve a lot, if your observation runs close enough – one classic example of baking a pie from scratch requiring the creation of a universe.  Causes are often multifactorial, because how could they not be?  The pie example runs through the ingredients, the cultivation of apples and wheat and cows to make butter etc., but that pie also needs a human to put it together, who must be educated from societies that had to evolve all the way up from monkey grunting, besides the hundreds of millions of years since we diverged from our last common ancestor with apples, and the billions of years of natural selection running to the two minutes after the Hadean magma cooled.

So I say that if you’re genuinely trying to arrive at the truth of a given thing, you need to wrack your brain for all the considerations, contingencies, and possibilities.  If you wants tha Real Science, you gots ta be willing to come up with a lot more than a single hypothesis.  Yes, to test, you have to narrow things down to the ideas you’re going to test, but to make that test as rigorous as possible, you should really try to think of every possible factor that could confound the results.  Stretch that brain.  Presumably that’s why you went into science, right?  To feel smart?

But no.  It’s easier to feel smart if you blithely whistle past all the ways you could be wrong, like evopsych assholes and scientific racists (how much overlap those fields possess).  One hypothesis.  A few cheesy tests.  Maybe squint and look at the data sideways, and by jove, you’ve cracked it!  Now go get as many women pregnant as possible, to share your genetic genius with the world.

Over here in the real world, you could be like me, and know just enough to be sure you’ll never fully understand anything.  Don’t throw your hands up and veg out watching George Michaels videos on yewchoob until you die.  Stay wondering.  Be frustrated forever by the fact real science hurts, and take your cold solace in the awareness at least you aren’t an evopsych fucko, or qanon, or moon landing truther, etc etc.

Here I come to the actual point of the article.  Does anyone know why crow populations are skyrocketing in the Pacific Northwest?  I could be wrong about this, but to my slightly-less-than-casual observation, they may have doubled or tripled in population within the last few years.  This was well after a documented boom they had back in the late twentieth century.

A possible point of failure in this question:  observational bias.  Most of my travels in a given week range from Auburn to Federal Way and back – up and down the west side of one little valley.  Maybe there are more crows here than elsewhere.  Maybe I had poorer observation of their numbers in previous years because I wasn’t paying as close of attention.  Maybe my mind is exaggerating, and they always gathered by the hundreds on the edge of the mall, sunning themselves in the morning light, in preparation for the daily hustle.  Maybe if I’d been driven down the west end of Main Street before, at the right time of day, I would have already seen them dotting the little lawns and parking lots and rooftops and trees, in groups ranging from dozens to hundreds, block after block.  Maybe they would always gather in megaflocks in the south of Auburn somewhere, making a cacophony that can be heard a mile away.

Sounded like I was trying to convince myself my observations were accurate toward the end of that paragraph, but I absolutely do recognize this perception could be flawed.  It literally could be a matter that I was never in the right place or time of day or time of year to see these crow convocations before.  In which case, there’s no phenomenon to wonder about.  But assuming there is a phenomenon, what’s causing it..?

Here’s where the range of possibilities starts to hurt the brain.  If I was a shit scientist instead of a vexed layperson, I would just cook up one hypothesis and a single test to run for it, then congratulate myself in print and get quoted in popular science magazines.  Instead, I sit here realizing how complex this can be – maybe even unknowable.  Some things I’ve considered:

Food explosion.  I learned from Abe Oceanoxia that invasive European earthworms have taken over the USA in huge numbers, and crows happily eat a lot of worms, whatever their proclivity for french fries.  Maybe earthworms are having a population explosion for reasons I can’t even begin to guess at.  Or maybe they’re just more available, because long years of drought seem to have ended here, and rain drives them to the surfaces of lawns and sidewalks.  Any given rainy day, you’ll see robins and crows both going for the wriggly pink smorgasbord, crows most of all.

Or maybe there’s another food altogether that has increased.  As covid and the ascent of global fascism have fostered a sense of doom in the younger generations, increasing deaths from despair, it has certainly increased the amount of litter.  Is the food explosion mostly human trash?

Predator decline.  I’ve heard that owls are the most prolific predators of crows.  I imagine cats and dogs take their share as well.  Well, we’ve no shortage of cats and dogs, but maybe the species of owl that eats crows has taken a population hit – or altered their behavior based on availability of a different prey animal or animals.

Or maybe a competing predator of the food they eat has experienced a decline, like worms becoming overpopulated due to a mole plague.

Natural selection.  Maybe a disease that had been killing crows had winnowed the population to those crows with a resistance, and those crows in turn had a big population boom?  Maybe crows had only bred at certain times of year to avoid competing with themselves but that was an obsolete limitation and year-long breeding finally won out majority expression in the population?  Maybe something crows eat had an evolutionary breakthrough and exploded.

Cultural selection.  Maybe crows figured out a cool trick they hadn’t done before.  I was once impressed by watching a crow use a tool, but since then have seen it again several times.  What’s interesting is the tool is the same – a short straight stick, just a few inches.  Was the technique of crafting this tool communicated, or were they all learning to go for the same source for the tool, or have I just seen one crow who packs its tool everywhere it goes, and gets around?

I haven’t seen this so often that it could make that big a population difference, but maybe there is some other behavioral trait they’ve increased.  Maybe they mob raptors and ravens so often now that they are being preyed upon less often, or are competing less for food.  Maybe they’ve increased the frequency of the food call.  There’s a tension in crow instincts between the desire to have food all to oneself and the desire to call a bunch of crows in to share.  If they’re all doing the food call more often, they’re eating food before any competing species can get to it.

My husband saw a yewchoob vid where some weirdos left a mound of peanut butter in the woods and crows ate almost all of it, beating out bears and coyotes and raccoons and more, strictly because of this instinct to call in your friends.  Well, that and having less hesitation about strange food sources.  The coyote missed out because he was too scared of the blob to eat it.  Maybe the hesitation recently reduced even more.

Commensalism.  Human population in the region has also exploded.  The town I live in has three times as many people as it did when I first moved here as a child.  More people, more lawns with worms, more fast food places and restaurants producing food waste, more rats and mice and pigeons and starlings to eat.  I’ve seen them eat pigeons and starlings before.  Hell, an increase in predatory behavior could drive population, or even cause an evolutionary split between crows with different feeding habits.

Niche partitioning.  Maybe that last one is it.  Maybe there’s been an invisible split along behavioral lines in food gleaning, which is the beginning of a speciation event that may or may not ever reach completion before it collapses back in on itself due to climate change or other human issues.

Some or all of the above.  The cause is multifactorial after all.

None of the above.  Phenomenon isn’t real.  I’m tripping and all this thought is for nothing.

Hell, all this thought assuredly is for nothing because I will never know the answer, whether it’s knowable or not.  And yet the thoughts still happen.  At least it shows I’m smarter than an evopsych dick.  That’s nice.

Bird Mystery Solved?

Remember those shiny white birds from the neighborhood of 320th ave and I-5 in Federal Way WA, that have vexed me for at least a few years now?  I think I might have solved the mystery…

Fancy pigeons.  Now I wouldn’t think somebody who keeps fancy pigeons would let them fly around, but what would I know?  This isn’t 100% because I haven’t seen the full flock in motion close enough to be sure it was the same birds, but in the same neighborhood I saw two different pigeons that were blazing white.  might have had a little darkness in the face and been a bit larger than average feral, but hard to be sure at a distance.

Why did I think they had size overlap enough with gulls to throw me?  Bloom, I think.  White objects look larger at distance, and these guys were even whiter overall than glaucous-winged gulls.  Anyway, it’s been months since I’ve seen the whole flock together, which makes sense.  A white pigeon in that neighborhood has to be total hawkbait.

DONK

weird birding day.  was looking directly at my bedroom window when a robin flew into it like a ton of bricks.  somehow it was able to fly away afterwards, but jesus fucking christ.  my phone just wanted me to type jesus fucking morbius.  maybe i should make a wattpad account.  also i saw a bald eagle pretty well, for a good amount of time, so one happy thing.

weird dreaming night.  something like hellraiser but more elaborate.  some goofy old lady kept nearly opening the box by accident and we had to force it closed.  there was a demon with a name like anh nyeng and all his cultists had it tattooed on their chest.  lots and lots and lots of violence.  skulls getting smashed, guns, machetes.  i think the trailer for tetsuo: body hammer may have been an influence.

i just wanted to get these memories down quick, don’t miss the post before this, if you want something more substantial.

Life List: Sooty Grouse

I’m in love with some chickens.  Sooty grouse are a pretty generic pheasanty-type bird.  I think a pheasant is a grouse if it spends most of its time being brown, but I could be wrong.  Chickeny overall look but with cryptic brown coloration (males get fancy in mating season) and no wacky head ornaments.  I believe chickens cluck to let each other know where they are in the underbrush; these guys made a soft woob woob noise instead.

The thing is, despite being game birds, these ones had no fear of people.  They weren’t as obviously hoping for treats as the canada jays, but might have been fed by some scofflaw in the past.  They walked in and out of plain sight, right next to the path – in snatching distance.  Their calls were sweet and their eyes big and cute.  It was a very nice encounter.

This was on a recent trip to Mt. Rainier, where we fucked up pretty badly at estimating our abilities, got wreck’d.  I kept saying “when you need it to have ended an hour ago but it’s still going.”  In the last couple miles we were basically being chased over the rough-hewn terrain by multiple species of mosquito.  They got our asses.  It was not worth it.

But it was almost worth it.  In addition to the sooty grouse family, we saw canada jays and two types of chipmunk, all close enough to get a pretty good look, and a lot of wildflowers and natural majesty – like looking at Rainier’s peak from the lower slopes.  The animals were close enough it was like being in a zoo without bars.  Oh, and we had to stop the car for an elk, which was a lot more impressive in size than the usual white-tailed deer.  But still…

I ain’t doing that again anytime soon.

Life List: House Sparrow

You ever find a young bird in a fallen nest, in some terrible place?  Like wtf were the parents thinking, to nest there?  Then you insist on taking it home, to save it, and your mom sez, “ya shouldn’t,” but you don’t listen, so… back yard funeral?  Classic experience.  My siblings and I did that shit circa 1985, I think.  House sparrow not-quite fledgling, just down on the sidewalk below a sheer forty foot ivy-strangled brick wall.

What nonsense location had the nest been?  In a snarl of ivy?  On the ledge where the crows and falcons could see it from a mile away?  Surely a stiff breeze was all it took.  Rock doves nest in some foolish spots, but I do think they have a better instinct for seeking shelter from wind, if nothing else.  I once saw a baby pigeon so close to the ground I could have snatched it.  Maybe one of these days when I’m ready to have a weirder pet.

But house sparrows.  That’s another species that does not belong here, very invasive in North America.  Unlike starlings, I don’t believe they’ve invaded wild environments too badly, maintaining their population among human structures.  I’ll accept that.  Probably less of a problem for this part of the world than white people.  I understand they’re not doing so well in the old world, and wonder what ridiculous invaders could be messing up their homelands.  House finches from California?  Mynahs?  Grey squirrels?  Shit has gotten pretty jacked up.

I did a mixed media four panel set of bird portraits, and I believe the only one that sold was the sparrow.  A hot thirty-five bucks for me.  Woo.  Selling art is some bullshit.

I really don’t have much to say about house sparrows.  They’re The Sparrow that ya boy Karl of Linne had in mind when he named the passerines.  Iconic in their drabness.  “His eye is on the sparrow” is supposed to be cool not because sparrows are smol and he protects the weak, but because nobody gives a shit about a sparrow, so he’s loving the unloved.  Right?  Anybody familiar with bullshitology wanna comment on that one?

I once saw a mother sparrow with like four juveniles chasing her around and begging for food, so I stopped to watch.  They looked exactly the same to my eye, except for behavior.  The juveniles lowered their bodies and cocked their heads back, made some kind of noise I no longer recall.  Such a scene is always funny and sad.  Those bums are harassing their poor mom until she manages to shake them off.  But that’s what remains of those tiny helpless creatures she cared for so deeply a few weeks ago – a gang of big jerks.  Flip that perspective.  Those jerks didn’t ask to be born.  They were thrust into existence filled with a howling need that could never be fulfilled, and never will be.  Hunger.  There once was warmth and a mouth that feeds, but the writing is on the wall.  You’re about to be on your own.

Humans and sparrows have altricial young.  They are helpless and bald and creepy, like me when I get too old to take care of myself lol.  But srsly, we have the same path through youth, from the cradle to the boot out the front door.  There are variations in the experience for us and for them.  Some humans have lifelong relationships with their parents.  Not so much with me.  Am I the sparrow that has me feeling poetic?

It’s as funny as it is sad, and the one quality ameliorates the other.  I’m not too bothered about it.  Just feels like something.  That’s all.

Life List: American Kestrel

Charly recently posted a kestrel pic from his very own home.  I once posted much shittier pics of a falcon on my front lawn.  That wasn’t a kestrel, but I have seen one before, at least once.  We have a different species in the US tho, the american kestrel.  They are smaller, which makes them cuter.  I don’t make the rules.  Sorry europe.

Most days I’m not seeing much nature.  Even when I go out of my way to see nature, it’s usually not much better than what I’d see in the mall parking lot.  The occasion when I saw the kestrel was very different.  I was on a birding trip with my dad and/or my brother; I don’t remember for sure who was there.  Paying more attention to birds than people, and an early leg of the journey had us by these marshy fields in southern Washington state.  They were so full of birds it felt like a strange dream.

Maybe my memory of the occasion is distorted.  By now it’s mostly a memory of a memory.  But in what I do retain, it’s delicious monster salad – creatures everywhere, feasting on nature’s goods.  Herons, egrets, a marsh harrier, surely some geese and ducks I don’t remember, red-winged blackbirds, corvids, and this little bird – sitting on a traffic sign.

There was a photo of a kestrel that did the rounds on social media briefly several years ago, where it was holding a grasshopper like a foot-long sub sandwich.  People wondered after the beast.  Its eyes were so huge, its beak so small, just a cartoon of a bird of prey.  Unlike every hawk or eagle I can think of, male american kestrels have some blue feathers.  Their patterning is very bold, despite being rendered in desaturate primary colors plus black and white.  Incidentally, that’s one of my favorite palettes.  My personal website used to have much the same color selection.

This is the part of the article where I use something about the bird’s name or description as a springboard for talking some unrelated rubbish… no, I won’t be doing that tonight.  I wake up for work in a lil over eight hours.  No way I get a full eight tonight.  I’ll do my best just the same…

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

Life List: Common Pheasant

I’ve surely seen these before, in a zoo collection filling out a mixed flock of more exotic poultry.  The common pheasant is what you think of when you hear “pheasant” – green head, white ring neck, weird red lappets on the face around their eyes, spots and stripes in a motley of earth tones, long sweeping tail.  That’s the male, females more drab as usual.  I don’t remember a specific instance of seeing them alive.  They’re not from here, introduced as they were around the world.  There’s a different introduced species of fowl one sees far more often, despite it being more showy and likely having smaller numbers globally: peafowl.

Pheasants were put on this continent to shoot.  Whatever, colonizers.  Now they’re here, out in fields, doing whatever it is that a chickenish wild creature does.  I can only remember seeing them in the wild one time.  It was some kind of game farm, or game farm adjacent plot of land where the unwise go to look at birds.  On the way in, we passed a ditch with a pile of dead birds, submerged in yellowish murky water.

At first I thought they were hawks.  It was hard to make out individual details, but they were stripey and not too small.  My brother was with me and considered calling the authorities – killing hawks is not allowed, right?  But we figured it out.  Shot for the sake of shooting, and left to rot.

I don’t get the pleasure of killing.  Seems like the behavior of sick creeps.  One might point out that predatory animals get a pass, right?  It’s how they live.  Alright, but their behavior does little to dissuade me from the idea that hunters are sick creeps.  The most intelligent predatory animals are legendary for their cruelty – for playing with their food.  Cannibalism, particularly of cubs, is widespread within Carnivora.

The conduct of white hunters in particular is doing their reputation no favors.  Every time you look up a hoofed animal no matter how tiny, meatless, or rare, you will see a white man posing next to a dead one.  I swear, I saw a pic of a mouse deer where the proud hunter was posing over it with the tiny peashooter he had used.  Famous politicians who hunt have also been puppy murderers, or blast from helicopters, or use assault rifles.  Losers.  Get a spear and put your ass on the line like a real hunter.

But I do eat meat, and when the soup goes down, you will see me hunting as well.  You will not see me making a game of it or smiling.  I guess it’s no big deal if it ain’t endangered species.  You’re not doing anything a dog wouldn’t do, and we’re all supposed to like dogs, right?  Fine.  I’m not going to say no.  Especially since you assholes killed all the wolves and somebody has to keep the deer numbers down.

But pheasants.  They look alright.  And they probably taste like chicken.

Life List, Supplemental: Chill Geese

Every damn time I see this post’s title in my queue I think “grilled cheese?  What did I want to write about grilled cheese?”  It’s chill geese.  Chill geese, I swear!

I had to go on a long journey by bus and by hoof, on a hot shitty day.  I despise summer profoundly.  There were a few nicer stretches, though I didn’t have time to enjoy them.  The apartment complexes on 1st Ave had shade trees and grass near the road, which were a good environment for canada geese.

There were a few small flocks on this day.  I wondered that they might be mixed flocks because some of the geese were much smaller than the tallest adults, but I realized they had just recently come into adult plumage.  Stray bits of down stuck to the surface of those feathers like they’d been caught in a dandelion’s orgasm.  The white and black on their head weren’t quite 100% contrast yet.

Geese have a big rep for hostility and violence, but I’ve never experienced it myself.  The ones closest to the sidewalk, closest to me, were the youngest – of whom you’d think the largest ones would feel protective.  Nobody threatened me.  They all looked very peaceful and sweet.  I could have busted a professional wrasslin’ move and collected a goose dinner, but they felt no danger from me.  They got my number.

I just love beautiful animals, even if they muck up the sidewalk.  They looked so pleasant, like this was paradise, despite the proximity to the asphalt and speeding cars.  I look one way I can see the endless train of people going places, the other and it’s goose elysium.

Thanks, geese.

Life List: Brown-headed Cowbird

You thought this was gonna be an original article?  Psych!  It’s a repost of one of my old hits, which happened to be about this bird.  If you wanna read the original comment section, check here.  Since the time of this post, I’ve seen adult brown-headed cowbirds at least once, and seen another juvenile creeping solo around the periphery of Federal Way’s Town Square Park.  Now to the cheap shit…

I’m about to do a lot of talking out my ass on subjects I’m not certified to comment on, but what I’m about to say feels true to me, so … good enough for now.  Just don’t cite me in your term paper.

Today I saw a juvenile brown-headed cowbird being fed by a dark-eyed junco, the first time I have ever witnessed an act of brood parasitism.  I crossed the street to get a better look.  The most famous brood parasite is the cuckoo, whose creepy behavior has been folded into a number of human languages to represent male sexual paranoia derived from the attitude that women and children are more important as property than as people.  This includes the word “cuck,” beloved of internet racists and misogynists, though their memetic use of the word has outstripped any sense of meaning.

I’m not here to talk about that.  I’m talking about birds that destroy the eggs of other birds, leaving their own offspring to be raised by parents of a different species.  Birds that engage in brood parasitism are typically larger than the species they use, meaning that raising the changeling bird is more demanding and potentially dangerous than raising a member of the bird’s own species.  The brown-headed cowbird I saw was larger than its deceitfully adopted parent, a junco that seemed small and skinny as it went about its work.

How is a bird fooled into raising a child that doesn’t even look right?  Depriving itself to feed a monster twice its mass?  It’s like a sheep raising a calf.  A lot of birds just aren’t very smart, have to rely on pure instinct to drive them, and other birds can exploit that.  Even the brood parasites themselves aren’t necessarily clever.  They just happened into that niche a million years ago and it worked, to the point brown-headed cowbirds wouldn’t know how to raise a baby if they were in a position to do so.

Instinct is a weird beast.  People like to say humans have instincts that drive us and take the concept too far.  Yes, we have instincts, but they aren’t necessarily the ones people talk about, certainly the average evopsych tool.  The main instinct I see in people around me is social sorting.  We try to understand and control our relationships with the people around us reductively, drawing in and out groups, choosing arbitrary or socially promulgated ways of discriminating against others.  It can be turned back on ourselves.  When abused as small children or changed by life circumstance to a kind of person we have previously learned to hate, we sometimes socially sort ourselves as “unlovable” and hide away.

Instincts for non-human animals are much more obvious, and without as much ability to teach each other how to act socially, their instincts often have to be wildly specific.  Take cats’ burial of feces.  You do not have to train a cat to use a litter box.  Some cats may have dysfunction that needs to be sorted out, but most kittens will quickly figure out how to use a litter box.  Why?

Here is the instinct, in the cat’s mind:  “I have to relieve myself.  Ugh.  It feels right to do this on a surface that gives beneath my paws.  Ah, this dirt is just right.  Now I can go.  Holy crap!  This smell is terrible!  For some reason, I feel a tinge of mortal fear.  I want to wave my paw next to it.  Oh, that’s moving dirt.  Will scratching the dirt make the smell go away?  If yes, sigh of relief, carry on.  If no, RUN AWAY!”  Some people don’t know about the last part.  It’s hilarious to watch your cats tear ass across the house to get away from their mess, when burying isn’t enough.

Humans have almost nothing like this weird chain of highly specific inborn feelings, because we gained the trait of culture.  We can teach each other to wash our food, to bury our feces, and so on.  Practically anything necessary can be taught instead of relying on instinct alone.  Unfortunately for birds, they aren’t as bright as us.  They have to rely on feelings.

The instinct, in the bird’s mind:  “I got laid.  Woo!  Now I’ve got some other weird feelings setting in.  Better make a nest.  Unggh!  Eggs.  Better sit on these.”  The brood parasite slips in here, knocking eggs out of the nest and laying its own.  The victim of this sheisty move returns to find its eggs different.  (Some birds actually recognize the switch through various means and knock the cuckoo eggs off, try to start over.)  Apparently a lot of birds, even if they recognize the change, don’t know what to do with that, and just carry on.  “Sit on weird eggs.  Baby hatch.  Feed that thing!”

This is the tragic romance.  The finagled parent is operating on the closest thing a bird has to love.  It is selflessly giving up its food, seeking more and more, doing its best to keep this baby alive and well.  A brood parasite baby is even more demanding than its natural child would have been, potentially making the parent wreck itself with hunger and exertion in the process.  But the parent is driven to harm itself like that, for the love of this strange monster.  It’s beautiful and sad, it’s no kind of way to be.  If your human relationships involve giving until you are broken, reevaluate them.  A tragic romance is something to behold, not something to live.

Well, that went around the world, and I have no snappy way to end it.  Have a song.

*the video I’d originally embedded disappeared
and this was the least worst replacement

Life List: Grackle and Boat-tailed Grackle

Starting with my first trip to that shady zoo in Kansas, I started seeing grackles whenever I went down to the area.  Not constantly, not on every fencepost, but pretty common.  While I’m certain some were regular type and some were boat-tailed, because I saw them in quick succession at the zoo, I couldn’t be 100% on that this long after the fact.  Like if I met a kinda taily regular grackle I’d be like, is this a boat tail?  And if I saw a boat tailed non-boating I’d be, well, clearly this is regular flavor grackle.

My favorite was at a gas station in the middle of nowhere, just a single boat-tailed grackle hopping around and looking for crumbs like a brewer’s blackbird would around here.  They’re more leggy, more beaky, more funny looking.  They just look like a fun bird.  I’d love to have them around, but I’ll wait until global warming pushes them into Western Washington.  Fuck going anywhere near that heat again.

While I don’t have much experience with them or much to say about them, I’m sure anybody from the US Midwest to Southwest could say lots.  I open the floor to that…

This is too short.  What can I say that is grackle adjacent?  Good bird name.  It’s a crackle or a cackle, coming from the grass or the green.  I suppose they’re named for the sound they make, like cats being called “mao” in China.  I’m gonna name animals after what they sound like to me and start calling dogs “fucks.”  Migratory thrushes can be called eeoo-eeoos.  Sad chickadees can be called umpeewees.  When my husband was a wee child he called crows awk-birds.

Bring the noise.  It’s onomatopoeia time.