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I’ve seen Rock Pigeons soaring-yes, soaring-about the high cliff walls above the Colorado River I’ve seen them powering across the desert I’ve seen them at sea. That strange policy was abandoned in the late 1970s, if I’m not mistaken. Maybe it’s because of that encounter in my formative years with Updike.ĭid you know Rock Pigeons once weren’t “countable”? The Christmas Bird Count didn’t want your Rock Pigeon (“Rock Doves” they were called) data. So often, I’m struck by the beauty and wildness of Rock Pigeons. When I wasn’t much older than Andrew, I read John Updike’s “Pigeon Feathers.” We walk a couple hundred yards, to the bighorn sheep exhibit, where we see a small flock of Rock Pigeons up on the highest outcroppings-too high even for the sheep.
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In their way, they’re zoo fixtures in the same manner as the House Sparrows and African lions.Ģ:00 pm–Canada Geese (subspecies parvipes, “Lesser” Canada Goose).Ī moment ago, I mentioned Rock Pigeons, those “flying rats.” No surprise, the zoo is teeming with them. But why bother? I’m guessing these birds will still be at the zoo next week, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they nest and raise young there this spring. But I think you could get away with calling them “facultative commensals.” Sure, these chickadees could fly off to Rocky Mountain National Park, where they might subsist (or not) on freeze-dried spider eggs and moribund collembolans. The chickadees are going to town on the mealworms.īlack-capped Chickadees aren’t “obligate commensals” like House Sparrows, meaning they have to have their humans. Somebody, well, dumped a pile of mealworms in the snow-not near any exhibit, just off by a paved path to a maintenance shed. For reasons inexplicable, there’s a pile of mealworms in the snow.
#Bronx zoo s:3 e:5 weird birds that are black Patch#
“Why do they keep going down to that bare patch in the snow?”Īndrew gets closer, and figures it out. “What are they doing?” I wonder out loud. Our next bird: a Black-capped Chickadee, a pair. I suspect that many of the zoo’s hundreds of House Sparrows (our eBird tally for the afternoon, n=200) spend their whole lives at the facility.ġ:43 p.m.–House Sparrow (male transitioning to breeding plumage aspect). House Sparrows are completely dependent on us. House Sparrows need us humans, but we don’t need them. So it’s not a mutualism, a co-dependency, as with hummingbirds and the flowers they pollinate. We say it’s a “commensal.” Commensal relationships are one-way: Species A needs Species B, but not vice versa. The House Sparrow is a fascinating species. It’s a paradox, but their dull plumage in fall and early winter wears down to their brilliant “black-throated brown” plumage in spring and summer. House Sparrows, starkly different in fall and spring, acquire their breeding plumage (technically, their breeding plumage aspect) through feather wear. The bird was a male, in transition from winter plumage to breeding plumage. The first thing we saw was a cliché, an African lion striking an MGM pose.Ī minute later we got our first bird, a House Sparrow. It was Super Bowl Sunday, and we had the whole place to ourselves. When we go birding at the zoo, we’re at the top of our game.Ī month ago, my son Andrew and I spent the afternoon at the Denver Zoo. When we go birding at the zoo, we have to be willing to think outside the box. (Many of the zoo’s birds aren’t in cages-we’ll get to that.) The zoo is a place where our birderly expectations go out the window. Some of the zoo’s birds are in cages, but you can’t put the zoo’s birds in the proverbial box. I go to the zoo to confront an avifauna that doesn’t play by the rules. I also go to the zoo for “deep birding,” if you will. To be sure, I go to the zoo to find rarities. The Denver Zoo is a magnet for cold-season rarities, including such notables over the years as Cape May and Yellow-throated warblers. But fall and winter are the “high season” for birding. It’s one of the best places in the region in the warmer months for cormorants, egrets, and night-herons they nest conspicuously and prolifically in the big trees at the south end of the zoo. I haven’t birded the Cape May Zoo in a long time, but I get to the Denver Zoo, close to home, from time to time. The Cape May Zoo would be a stop on our Big Day. And a tardy Snow Goose, another wild bird, was lingering there. The Cape May Zoo was-and perhaps still is-good for Summer Tanager. It’s true, I explained, that you can’t count the zoo’s flamingos, but the zoo grounds are great for legitimate, countable, wild birds. “That’s cheating!”Įven non-birders know you can’t count zoo birds. “You’re going to the zoo?” she asked incredulously. Years ago a friend and I were planning a New Jersey Big Day, and a non-birding acquaintance overheard our deliberations.