Phoebe "Phreaks" Out, Dive Bombs Bird Blogger

By Mel Carriere

My experience with birds has always been a positive one.  I have never been harassed by angry crows or dive bombed by infuriated nest-defending Mockingbirds.  Sometimes little Anna's hummingbirds take umbrage to my proximity to their digs and will frighten me off with a majestic J shaped swoop that doesn't even come close enough to ruffle the few remaining hairs on my balding head.  For the most part, however, I have kept my distance and lived in peace with members of my local avian community, and they have reciprocated by regarding me as a harmless feature of the landscape.

But sometimes aerial threats come at you from unexpected directions, and such was the case last week when I was attacked from a quarter of the sky that I never would have expected.

The culprit was a Black Phoebe, a bird I have observed can be fierce in defending its home territory against invading members of its own species, but have never known to be aggressive against me or any other members of the Homo sapiens set.  Indeed, my wife and I enjoy sipping our coffee in the dining room while we watch the tail wagging antics of Sayornis nigricans as they dive bomb for bugs from a planter hanger perch they make use of in our back yard.  These birds never seem to object to, or even take notice our presence, for that matter.

But last Sunday, as I turned the corner of a building that is part of a large complex where I work security one day out of the week, I was the bug who was Phoebe dive bombed .  An angry Black Phoebe, standing watch in a Sweet Gum tree just outside a window, took wing and began flying intimidating circles around my head as I walked by.  Not prepared for this air bombardment I scurried off for safety, and when I was outside the Phoebe's comfort zone the bird assumed I got the message and went back to its vigilant post on the Sweet Gum.

As I continued my solitary rounds, I wondered about the Phoebe's unexpected bad temper, and could only conclude that the bird was jealously protecting a nest in the vicinity.  When I swung by the same place again a little later the Phoebe was no longer using the Sweet Gum as a base for its Stuka operations, so I chanced a quick peek up into the rafters.  There as expected was the rather unkempt mud cup that this Phoebe had constructed to raise its young in.  Since I could not hear the urgent, hungry peeping of any bird babies, however, I concluded that the nest was empty, so it seemed a little strange to me that Ma Phoebe should be so urgently and insistently defending the place.  It also seemed a bit odd that this bird should still be nesting so late in the season.

I conducted a little investigation on this bird's breeding habits, and found out that Black Phoebes do indeed "...nest in mud cups anchored in protected nooks, often under a bridge or the eaves of a building (per allaboutbirds)."  The female does all the nest construction while the sperm donor Dad goes off on a bug bender, hence my attacker was most probably a lady.  Phoebes raise 1-3 clutches, so it is possible the nest you see photographed above was a late brood, but I couldn't find any definitive dates about how late in the season this bird breeds.  Even though I can't verify it from any bird authorities, however, I know now from personal experience that in July Phoebe love is still in the air, and these tail flicking fiends remain in "high feather" against anyone who might intrude too close to one of the ugly mud splats that their children call home.

I have decided not to declare war on Mrs. Phoebe, but to write off her unwarranted attack as a case of raging hormones.  As a married man of near 25 years I can definitely understand female hormones run amok.  Therefore, I will do my best to maintain a positive outlook on the Phoebe clan as I go about my terrestrial based duties and leave the sky to the birds.

A great place to start for beginning birders!


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The image is a composite.  The photo on the right of the Phoebe nest was made by me, the photo on the left is taken from Wikipedia, and is attributed to:  "Sayornis nigricans NBII" by John J. Mosesso, NBII - http://images.nbii.gov/details.php?id=56595&cat=Birds. Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons - https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Sayornis_nigricans_NBII.jpg#/media/File:Sayornis_nigricans_NBII.jpg

Do Birds Mourn Their Dead? - Notes on a Starling's Untimely Demise

By Mel Carriere

I confess I have never liked Starlings much.  First of all they are an invasive species - a kind of weed with wings that drives out other more desirable feathered favorites, notably Bluebirds.  Secondly, Starlings typically inhabit mundane, barren industrialized areas and add their sparkling ugliness to the already blighted urban landscape, so that there is not much romance at all associated with the species.  Point three is the voice. I'm pretty sure there are no bodice-ripper novels that feature Starlings singing sweetly in the garden as the two lovers finally lock in amorous embrace.  The song of the Starling is just not that sweet; consisting largely of a series of dissonant hisses, clicks, and whistles that are definitely not  music to the ears and definitely do not inspire poets.  Finally, there is something downright creepy about the bird and the flocks in which it thrives.  Starling flocks seem to be possessed of a hive mind, much like a swarm of bees or a plague of locusts, and it strikes me as unsettling to watch their undulating flocks moving in choreographed unison, as if directed by an invisible controlling entity.  This particular Starling behavior, in fact, used to creep me out so much that I once wrote a fantasy novel featuring Starlings as the bad guys; an army of foul avians being led by a grotesquely proportioned boss Starling that directed the insidious affairs of his kin from the dark bowels of an abandoned refinery.

Over the years I have come to appreciate Starlings a little more.  I found that they are superb mimics - much better than any Mockingbird in my opinion, a fact I discovered when I heard one outside the bedroom window perfectly imitating my wife's cuckoo clock.   Indeed, research has shown that whatever their voice lacks in beauty is more than compensated by the complexity of their vocalizations.  It turns out that Starlings have an extremely complex language that employs recursion, a phenomenon that in general allows for extremely complex sentence building, something that at one time was thought to be unique to humans.  In 2006, however, scientists began to discover that Starlings also use recursion in their speech, shattering yet another arrogant misconception of man that we alone employ complex language and are superior because of it.

These discoveries have made me respect Starlings a little more.  Not love, mind you, respect.

While doing my security rounds in a building parking lot on Sunday I came across a dead Starling on the pavement that had obviously been ripped apart by some predator.  Its body had been gutted and one bloody wing ripped away and dragged a few feet.  The unsightly carcass remained in this state for a couple of hours until scavengers came along and thoroughly finished the job; even taking the beak, leaving nothing but a few feathers.  A trio of crows loitering nervously nearby, looking a bit shamed by their gluttony, were probably the clean up crew.

This sounds silly, but my first thought upon seeing the dead Starling was to wonder if any of this bird's friends and family mourned its death.  Scientists have demonstrated that Scrub Jays actually conduct impromptu funerals for their dearly departed, so is it beyond the realm of possibilities that such a complex, intelligent songbird like the Starling wouldn't do the same?

One of the themes I am going to frequently write about here is how human arrogance misinterprets animal behavior.  Until very recently, traditional science always maintained that most animals function on a purely instinctive level, basically doing everything on impulse without moderating their behavior through the process of rational thought, as humans supposedly do.  I have always thought this idea to be pure bunk, complete hooey.  I believe scientists circulated this notion on purpose without really investigating it first, probably so they can justify killing animals in cruel experiments. 

Now science is reluctantly waking up to the true capability of animals, and the Eureka revelation is that they are not really much different from us.  Our unique evolutionary advantage, one that has fueled further vital adaptations such as an opposable thumb and powerful brain, is the ability to stand on two legs for extended periods.  Animals can't do this, which means we can stand up and throw things at them all day but they can't throw back, which is a definite liability in a fight.  Well, I suppose a chimpanzee can stand up and throw a rock at us, but then it has to run away on all fours, meaning its hands will be occupied while running.  Humans, however, can run and keep throwing things the whole time, an ability that definitely put us ahead in the struggle to dominate the planet.  It also means we can stand up and manipulate increasingly complex tools.  In summation, it's not that we are innately smarter or better, it's simply that we can stand up, and this has given us leisure time to experiment with ways to better control our universe.

Since Starlings have developed complex language, therefore, why can't they also have complex social behavior, such as funerals, like the Scrub Jays do?  Scientists refer to these Scrub Jay last rites with the impressive title of "cacophonous aggregations in response to dead conspecifics," a label that seems to demean their purpose.  If you have ever seen a video of one of those Arab funerals with the hysterically shrieking women mourners, you might be inclined to call that a "cacophonous aggregation" as well.  Human funerals certainly can be quite a cacophony.  So what is the difference?  I think that putting a clean, technical label on the emotional outbursts of animals makes it easier for us to cancel out their feelings and suffering, which means its okay for people to kill as many of them as we have to.

What was that the great philosopher Kurt Cobain said? - "...it's okay to eat fish, 'cause they don't have any feelings."  Well, turns out that if the Scrub Jays and the Starlings do, then why not fish?  So now what, Kurt?

Hear Kurt's immortal words for yourself:



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