Standing 4-5 feet tall, and weighing in at 9 1/2- 12 pounds, Sandhill Cranes are Michigan’s largest bird. They are hard to ignore even when viewed from a great distance. They simply command attention when seen in close vicinity.  I was so commanded when I came across a pair of these stately birds at Kensington Metropark last week.  High atop a grassy knoll by the park office, the cranes were preening as I pulled up. Neither my presence nor the scattered downpours disturbed their concentration.

Sandhills, like all birds, spend a lot of time preening their feathers. Wild birds don’t usually engage in such behavior, however,  until they feel comfortable with their present surroundings – after all, bending over backwards and picking away at armpit dingleberries tends to detract from predator alertness. Perceiving that I was not a threat, my two Kensington birds went about their daily duty with a zen-like determination.  You can pick up on a few rules of feather care as you watch their antics (see here a movie of a preener in action ) .

Preening is all about keeping feathers tidy and oiled. A long beak and neck certainly makes things easier, but all birds are endowed with the proper anatomy to get the job done. The length of each feather is individually pulled through the open beak in order to literally zip it together – insuring that the barbels remain interlocked. You can see this “zipping” especially well when the long flight feathers are given the treatment.  Another regular part of the routine involves reaching back to tweak the oil gland located on the rump (see here). In this case, the bird drops his wings to expose the gland and pinches it between the tips of the bill. The exuded waterproofing fluid is then spread over the body feathers.

In a normal sequence, the procedure begins with the back – between the scapulars or shoulder feathers – then to the wing coverts, lower neck and breast.  The wings are extended to get at the “pit” feathers. When two preening birds stand side by side, each at a different stage of the process, the sight offers the appearance of a modern dance statue (see above).

A Tai Chi stretching session (see below) marked the end of the procedure and insured the prospect of proper balance and inner avian peace. Each bird eventually leaned forward, while balancing on one leg and holding both wings out at full spread, and proceeded to hold its other leg straight out. This ultimate stretch-out ended the whole affair. In all, the preening lasted about 15 minutes.

After all this preening stuff, you’d think that these Sandhill Cranes would be cleaner but they were, in fact, dirtier!  When cranes feed, they probe the ground with their bills (see here). They are omnivores which feed on small mammals and  invertebrates, but they spend most of their time pulling up plants. While doing so, they get quite a bit of mud on their bills and they make no effort to clean it off.  Sandhills deliberately rub this iron-rich mud into their feathers when preening and thus turn their normally gray plumage into a rich cinnamon brown shade. Since they can’t reach their own face or neck, these parts of the plumage remain pristinely gray and white.

The secondary purpose of preening, therefore,  is to stain their feathers with rusty soil. Some believe this behavior imparts a bit of camophlage which protects these birds when attending their nests and young, but this is not at all certain. Hey, maybe they like to get dirty!

Sandhill Cranes are known for their loud raucous calling and dancing – which, considering this discussion could be called dirty dancing. Their distinctive rattling “gar-oo -oo” carries a long way over the landscape. I was privy, however, to a lesser known species call as the pair ambled close to the car and crossed the road (see here). Cranes emit a low rolling purr in order to keep in contact with each other. I was able to pick up a short burst of that intimate purring, although it is audible only in the first few seconds of the recording (purring cranes).

So, I guess it’s safe to say that up close and personal these birds are simultaneously cuddly, artful, and somewhat filthy.

Exploding buds and erupting flowers are natural spring “sounds.”  They are silent sounds, to be sure, but crucial to understanding the season. I suppose an opening tree bud would literally sound like an explosion to a microbe, but for the sake of this discussion it really doesn’t matter. No human explanation of the season is complete without the use of these descriptive pseudo sounds. Spring doesn’t just “show up”, it “arrives!”  I would like to add one more non-auditory spring sound to this slightly meaningless thought string.  A booming population of Water Fleas heralds in Spring just as “loudly” as the buds and blooms.

Water Fleas (see above) are mini aquatic crustaceans cursed with an unfortunate name. Because they are tiny and happen to swim around in a jerky style reminiscent of hopping fleas, they are commonly called “fleas.” They are actually members of a group known as the Cladocerans and are more related to crayfish and shrimp than to cat parasites. 

Populations of these creatures literally – or is it figuratively – explode in the springtime. Dormant winter eggs are called into action as the days lengthen and the temperatures warmen (I know that’s not a word, but it should be). Nearly every body of water, from stagnant pools to the open waters of the Great Lakes, suddenly harbor trillions of these eruptive little life forms. The boom subsides to a rumble by summer, but while it lasts their collective mass probably outweighs the collective weight of every other creature in the water – including the fish!  Water fleas are exceedingly important in their role as zooplankton in the aquatic food chain – so important, that without them the aquatic food chain would cease to work. Talk about a mouse that roars, eh?

One of our local species of cladoceran (sounds like one of the Star Trek aliens, doesn’t it?) is the Daphnia.  Looking at a Daphnia means looking at a little glass seed with an eyeball (see below). Relatively huge by micro standards, this type can be over 3 mm in length.  The head end is evident by the presence of a single eye which, in reality, is a collection of eyeballs compacted into a cluster. When viewed from above (see here) the solitary eye really stands out. Two specialized antennae stick out from just behind the head and they are employed  as swimmerets. The whole body is encased within a clear two part shell which opens along one edge.

Internally they have nothing to hide since they live in glass houses (and therefore don’t throw stones). A dark green central intestine is evident along with a set of flapping gill feet. The gills keep water circulating toward the mouth for a constant diet of one-celled plants. A powerful “jumping foot,” called a post abdominal claw, helps the creature move along underwater surfaces and to deliver winning goals during their occasional planktonic soccer games.  All of these features are visible in this short video clip (see here).

Perhaps the most obvious feature are the eggs carried in a brood patch along the back (see in this view and a detail view here). Every single individual has them because every single individual is a pregnant female. There are no males at this time of year. The eggs are parthenogenically produced – which is a fancy way to say that they develop without the benefit of male fertilization. I’m not quite sure how to say this, but the spring explosion of daphnia consists entirely of amazons. The eggs develop within the body and become fully fledged cladoceranets before they are released onto the world.

As the summer approaches, a few of the females will decide to produce a few males, you know, just for the heck of it.  They’ll have their little romantic get-togethers and then lay sexually produced resting eggs for the winter season. For now, however, it’s time for the girls to have a big p-a-a-a-r-t-a-y while making their own kids and eating algae until they get sick. True, most of them will get eaten before the spring fling is over, but such is the way of explosive life.

It would be a logical assumption, based on the name alone, to deduce that Fairy Shrimp are extremely delicate in nature. All shrimp (apart from the oxymoronic jumbo type) are little and fairies are gossamer fleeting sprites. Any creature bearing these combined names must have the constitution of frost on a warming day. Right? Not right. In their relative space and time, Fairy Shrimp are titanic and as tough as nails. The very fact that they exist is a testament to this latter fact.

Every spring, when melt and rain water temporarily fills woodland depressions, these vernal pools are instantly populated by a whole fleet of micro-crustaceans. These life forms spring into spontaneous existence as if popping out of the ether itself. When the pools dry up later in the season, the residents vanish as the spots become bone dry. Eastern Fairy Shrimp, crustaceans in a group known as the Branchiopods, are actually among the largest members of this fleet. They are barely over an inch in length, yet are behemoths in relation to the other micro-crustaceans about them.   

True to their name, however, Fairy Shrimp are sporadic (just like Tinkerbell) and you never know whether they’ll put in an appearance from spring to spring. Because they seem to come and go like magic, they are given the Fairy desigantion. There are over 200 species world-wide, but the most common in our neck of the woods is the Eastern variety. I recently encountered some of these facinating spring animals in a vernal pond at Crosswinds Marsh and scooped some up for examination.

I’m really not sure if they were in that pool last year but this year I looked for them and was rewarded for the effort. When free swimming (see title picture) they travel about at an even, but slow, rate of speed and they do so while upside-down. Their slender shape, constantly flapping swimmerets, and bulging red eyes (see here) are their most apparent feature when in this pose. In hand (see below), they appear almost like salmon fry. The pink coloration combined with a definite “tail” and a dark intestinal line running down their back certainly enhances this fishy look.  They are, never-the-less,  crustaceans and so exhibit the segmentation typical of that group. 

The head is made up of two segments where the antennae, eyes and large mandibles originate. The thorax consists of 11 segments each equipped with a pair of multilobed swimmerets and the long segmented “tail” ends in a two pronged appendage (see below). In practice, the swimmerets are responsible for generating a flow of water that brings bacteria, algae, detritus, and protozoans up to the mouth. They eat as they go, so to speak.

You can tell the females from the males since males have larger antennae and the females carry egg cases at the base of their thorax.  Fairy Shrimp are rather fragile as adults, but their eggs are not. The first generation of eggs, those laid over the first month, are thin-shelled. These are produced, laid, and hatched in short order. The second generation, those laid just before the pools dry up, are thick-skinned and drought resistant. After the last drop of water evaporates and the bodies of the adults are rendered into dust, these second generation eggs remain in the soil.

Over a normal cycle of seasons, the eggs will remain dormant for 6-8 months. They hatch out, like magic, when re-immersed in water the following spring. Given a set of abnormal circumstances, these eggs can remain dry and viable for as long as 15 years or more! Now, that’s tough.  Because of this, the eggs – which are actually cysts with fully developed embryos inside – are better considered as sleeping shrimp capsules. Or, better yet, as “instant life crystals” that have the potential to become “Instant Pets.”

As “instant life crystals” Fairy Shrimp eggs are still shipped around the world as Sea Monkey eggs. Yes, you’ve probably seen those ads that used to be on the back of comic books that showed a happy little family of naked pink monkeys swimming happily about their fish bowl kingdom. Some of you may even have ordered the little castle set-up that went with the mail-order set.  All of you were no doubt disappointed when the things that hatched out bore absolutely no resemblance to primates or anything remotely cute. 

Today, you can still order these little miracles from the official Sea-Monkey web site (no, I’m not kidding) but you really don’t need to pay for the experience. Free Sea-Monkeys are currently reigning over a spring pool near you.

In the last blog entry, “The Master of Castor,” I ended things just as we were staring at the b-hole of a beaver.  This time, I’ll start there because it’s not a bad place to be. You see, apart from affairs of the  fur and that marvelous tail, the castor glands of the beaver are valid subjects in their own right. These paired glands, which produce what is known commercially as castoreum,  exit out of the beaver’s body at this point so the place can’t be avoided.

I won’t show you what the glands look like once they have been taken out, but if you can imagine a pair of prune-sized punching bags linked by a  flat leather strap you will have the basic idea. When a beaver is skinned, the glands are normally taken out and dried.  Most trappers will use the stuff as a lure, but there is another commercial use which brings these structures into the company of some pretty high society.

O.K., if you want to be anal about it, the castor glands are not really glands in the true biological sense of the word, but when hovering over the anus of a beaver one really doesn’t need to be anal does one? We can call them glands and the world will be alright.   In some circles they are called “beaver pods” as a way to make them sound fruity or non-anal, I guess. Whatever you call them, these structures exude a yellowish paste that smells like….well, a smell that is hard to describe.

 A freshly trapped beaver actually smells quite good – the slightly sweet castor oil smell hovering about the creature like an aftershave. In life, the beaver smears it about in order to mark territorial boundaries and consequently it’s fur becomes saturated with it. One German chemist classified the smell as “sharp and burning with a creosote or tar-like note, reminiscent of the glowing odor emanating from birch tar or Russian leather.”  Now, that really clears things up doesn’t it? Personally, I think it smells like bad Cinnamon. There is plenty of room for both of us to be right.

The oil is actually a chemical stew packed with over 24 identifiable compounds.  Most of these chemicals are Phenolic compounds and some “rather exotic nitrogen containing compounds,” but salicylic acid derivatives and cinnamic acid are also part of the brew. Cinnamic acid, as you might suspect, is a major component of Cinnamon! Why, you might ask, is so much known about this stuff? Castoreum has long been a major ingredient used by the perfume industry.

Only the highest quality perfumes use real castoreum oil in their mix, but many carry on the tradition by using a synthetic version. The original beaver castoreum were dried and aged for up to five years before they were used. Such classic perfumes as Emeraude, Coty Chanel, and Lancome Caractere are castor based. In the trade, these perfumes are classified as giving off leathery or woody notes, and I doubt you can get much more earthy than beaver musk.

Just when you think you’ve now heard it all, I have one more thing to throw at you. When examining the beaver which inspired all this enlightenment, I noticed a tiny creature walking all over the front paw (see here). I believed it to be a flea at first, but upon taking a closer look realized that I was in the presence of a Beaver Beetle. This extremely unique little insect (only 2 mm long) can only be found living on beavers. It essentially lives off of beaver dandruff and parasitic mites, so the relationship to it’s giant host is symbiotic and beneficial.

In the form of a simplified beetle without eyes or wings (see top view at beginning and underside view above), this flattened insect is fully adapted to crawling through dense fur. I found two of these creatures on this individual, but most beavers have many more beetles-in-residence. One study revealed 192 living on one animal alone.

So, Beavers have upon their back beaverbugs to ride ’em and upon their butts two beaver pods that smell quite indescribum.

Don’t ask me why I ended up with a dead beaver. Let’s just say that I did and that it was legally obtained. I skinned it and processed it, as per fur trade tradition, but I also gave it a good visual once over before doing so.  I’d like to share some of this “once-overing” with you and – according to my own tradition – show you some things you probably didn’t really want to see. You can consider this your indoctrination into the “Beaver Club.” Now, stop snickering, this is a good thing.

Beavers are fascinating creatures that well deserve the centuries long human attention paid them. There is no telling of the history of Canada or of the Northeastern United States without mention of this fur bearer and it’s essential and political role in nation building (and destroying). Once upon a time you were considered a nobody unless you were a member of the Beaver Club.  High profile members of the fur trade such as James McGill or the Mackenzie clan were once members of the esteemed beaver club in Montreal (see medallion below and a club plate here). So, you see, the idea of gaining Beaver knowledge is not all that odd.

Beaver, more properly known as Castor canadensis, are becoming more common in Southeast Michigan – a place that they have not been for the better part of 150 years. Here in the Detroit River region these animals were literally located in the epi-center of the fur trade and were regionally trapped out long ago. Although common elsewhere, their re-appearance here has only slowly advanced over the past ten years or so.

 Getting a good close look at one of these giant rodents is time well spent. While I’ll spare you the whole body shot of the animal, the creature I examined was around 32 inches long and probably weighed in at about 20 pounds. Judged by normal beaver standards, this guy would be considered small. One hundred pound beavers are not unheard of and it is no wonder that they rank as the world’s second largest rodent (behind the Capybara).

The tail is the one single beaver feature that everyone seems to know about. I mean, you can ask the average pre-schooler to draw a beaver, or ask them to describe the beaver’s tail, and they’ll tell you that it is flat with “checker” marks on it. The above average pre-schooler will go on about how the beaver uses this scaly appendage for swimming and spreading mud on it’s darn (they shouldn’t say dam). The obnoxiously brilliant pre-schooler will tell you how the beaver will slap the water with its tail as a danger signal and that the early fur trappers considered this part of the animal as a delicacy.  In order to bring us all up to the level of a pre-schooler, I present to you the tail in question (see below). 

The large paddle-like tail is indeed flat and “checkered.” About 1/2 inch thick (see here), the skin portion of this particular tail was about  8 inches long by 4 inches in breadth. The musculature extends into the body and much of the beaver’s rump beyond the hips is actually fur-covered tail. An irregular set of scales cover the surface (see detail shot in beginning photo) and a few sparse hairs stick out from under the overlapping edges. This is one of nature’s better tails!

 I didn’t want to correct the above-average pre-schooler quoted above, but the beaver’s magnificent tail is actually used more as a rudder than a swimming flap. Huge webbed hind feet (see below) are responsible for propelling the beast through the water when swimming. The small front feet are held tight to the chest while swimming, but the back ones expand out to near human palm size when fully extended (see here). Incredibly, the second toe on each back foot  is modified – the hard part of the nail is split into a flattened upper portion and a perpendicular bottom portion(see here). The purpose for this toenail is for fur combing and spreading water-repellent oils.

 As a cousin of the muskrat, the beaver shares many traits with it’s diminutive relative. A dense woolly underfur, beneath the tawny layer of oily guard hairs (see here), keeps Castor and his little cousin dry and warm in their watery habitat. Both species have stout golden incisors. While the beaver’s massive chisels are meant to chip away at wood and bark, the muskrat’s slender chippers are fit only for “felling” tender cat-tails. The lips on both species can close tightly behind the incisors to create a water tight seal (see here) when chewing underwater. Both water mammals have short ears (see “hear”) and nostrils that can be closed off when diving. A final point of similarity between the two is that both have very active musk glands. The beaver definitely takes this part of his being to the extreme, however.

There are two major scent glands on the beaver – anal glands and castor glands. Both the males and the females have them, and the two are difficult to tell apart unless a female is in nursing condition. Both sets of glands open into the animal’s cloaca (see here). Sorry, I had to show you this, but it was necessary. There are two external “nipples” that connect to the anal glands and two internal Castor gland ducts that open up into the b-hole (yes, you read that correctly). The anal gland fluids are used to mark territory and the castor glands to provide “personal information.”

Sensing that I have probably brought you to the brink of your normal sensibilities, I’ll give you a break from this beaver talk and stop for now. I warn you, however, that I’ll be back in a few days with some serious Castor oil chat and a good close look at an insect that only lives on the backs of beavers! Stay tuned.

As I am writing this installment, I’m looking out over the computer screen and out through the front window. There is a gentle snowfall descending from the sky. Last night we got a few inches of the heavy white stuff  and it’s not showing any signs of letting up as the day gets older. It is a bit mind-numbing to see that it’s April 6 according to the inside ‘fridge calander but only March 6 according to the real visual record. Although there is nothing truly shocking going on here, the weather talk of the day will be of the “can you believe it” nature. This type of weather is par for the course – it’s just that we are the ones with the short term memories.  In a way this is good, because it creates in us a “newness” of being in a place where every day is different from the next. Dogs think this way, so why can’t we?

I bring this memory stuff up, of course, because I want to try your memory for just a moment. I’d like to cover a few subjects that I’ve touched on before. My intent is not to numb your senses, but simply to get you to “fetch” your senses back.

The picture of the Red-winged Blackbird at the head of this piece is brand new, but the subject is brand old. These stunning black and red dynamos are hard to ignore this time of year. Every time they belt out an “Oaka-leee-a” chorus is cause for me to stop and admire the scene. Now, I haven’t forgotten that I’ve called this to your attention on more than one prior occasion but I do so only because I think it’s worth it.  There is something new here as well.

Male Red-winged Blackbirds have been facing off since mid February. They have been actively staking out wetland territories in anticipation of the day when the females come home (here’s a female from last year). Well, the new “news” is that the girls have finally arrived at the Erie shore! I saw my first one on Saturday and yesterday the marsh world was transformed with the beguiling charms of dozens of females. Needless to say, the male birds are well aware of what’s going on and they are pumped.

All the guys are going about their business with a renewed vigor. Their calling rates have increased along with the intensity of their displays. The male bird pictured above is completing his so-called  “song spread” display in which the Okalee vocalization is accompanied by a flaring of the wings and tail and a raising of those red epaulets. That shade of red, called Phoenician Red by the way,  is so-termed because of it’s resemblance to the red shellfish dyestuff once traded to the Greeks by the Phonys.  In-between these typical displays, however, the males are also doing a lot of strutting. This behaviour is often overlooked because it is performed in silence.

A strutting blackbird exhibits all the pomposity of a third-world general reviewing his troops (see the photos below). Head up and beak pointed skyward, this general is pictured as he patrolled his section of the boardwalk at Lake Erie Metropark. Though his kingdom is but a small piece of wet ground, he guards it as if it were a palace placed upon a lofty mountain (see a movie here). Unlike puppet generals, these birds have the ability to hide their scarlet epaulets if they so choose. Through a series of controlled skin muscle moves – similar to those which create goosebumps in humans – the males actually raise up their epaulets above the covering layer of black feathers so that they are more than obvious. So, even in the strutting pose, the red shoulder is deliberately on exhibit. After the breeding season, these shoulder pads will be covered for the most part.

Red-wing Blackbirds are polygynous, which means they keep a harem of multiple females. The males have to actively defend a territory of 150 to 2,000 meters or more in order to insure proper nesting conditions for thier assembled mates. Average males have 5 females in their families while super males have been known to collect 15 or more! In practise, even though the females are not all true to their mates and will occassionally slip away for some action with the mailman, this behavior provides a pretty good form of gene insurance.

The other old subject that I’d like to bring up again has to do with the frisky behavior of spring Cottontail Rabbits. Not that they really need to, but rabbits perform a sort of pre-mating dance in order to get their hormones going. The routine consists of a series of playful face-offs, dashes, paw slapping, and some vertical jumps. Male rabbits will join in vicious kickboxing routines, but bunnies of the opposite sex become downright giddy with each other.

On the last day of March – the real March – I caught a couple of rabbits so engaged in the back yard (see movie here). While the Red-wing performance has a well choreographed sound track, the bunny dance is a silent routine. I decided to give the short sequence a soundtrack, so be forewarned. Turn the sound all the way down if you want your experience to be a strictly scientific observation session, but keep it up if you want to catch a silly thought and forget this crummy weather for a moment. Fetch!

Two more spring amphibians have come to my attention recently. Although I knew both where “there” I never really got a chance to see either one, so this discussion involves a pair of sights unseen. The first,  being a cluster of loud-mouthed Wood Frogs, announced themselves with a cacophany of chuckles while the second, a Smallmouth Salamander, left a mute cluster of eggs as evidence.  Both species make use of ephemeral spring woodland pools for breeding purposes and both can be difficult to “see.”

Among the spring heralding frogs, the Wood Frog is among the earliest, although it is usually trumped vocally by the Peepers and Chorus Frogs. As a species, they have the northen most distribution of any amphibian and can be found north of the Arctic Circle. Woodies, as you might expect given their name, are basically woodland creatures that spend most of their life as a silent residents of the leaf litter world. When these secretive frogs approach temporary pools in the spring to breed, they let it all hang out – so to speak. If they were people, you’d say that they let their hair down, but since frog fur is about as fine as you can get, that would not be a good analogy.

In the flesh, these golden brown frogs are about 2 inches long and are endowed with very distinctive face masks – often referred to as a robber’s masks (see here).  In the aural arena, Wood Frogs are champion quackers. Their croaks come out as “chucking” notes sounding more like expresso hyped ducks than a frogs (Listen here – In this sound segment you’ll notice that a gang of creeking Chorus Frogs are also participating in the battle of the bands).

I recorded these calls in a flooded woodlot in Oakland County. The creatures were out in the deeper water and quite out of my reach – being sans hip waders at the time. Had I of waded out to the center stage, where the action was, I would have been able to see the callers themselves and their gelatinous egg masses. All the females tend to lay their eggs into one large communal egg mat with each one contributing over a 1,ooo eggs a piece.

While I can’t show you the Wood Frog eggs, I can show you some Smallmouth Salamander eggs. These precious packets were  laid in a woodlot pool in southern Wayne County (see title picture). The salamanders that laid them were long gone by the time the eggs were collected. Prompted by the first warm rain of late winter, these blue-speckled amphibians (see here) migrate to their ancestral pools to breed – answering the same instinctive call that beckoned the Chorus & Wood Frogs.

Unlike the frogs, however, salamanders are silent breeders. Oh, they get frisky alright, but their manner of breeding consists of a pantomimed dance in which the male lures the female over their sperm packets. Once fertilized, the females drape small clusters of jelly eggs (masses of 3-30 eggs) onto submerged sticks and stems. The whole egg-laying thing is over in a matter of a few nights, after which the adults slink back onto land and vanish into the leaf litter.

The pictured eggs are “well along.” As you can see, the embryos are clearly visible inside their 1/2 inch jelly spheres. When put into the proper light, the multi-layered structure of the eggs becomes evident (see below). There are at least three membranous capsules, with the inner two visible as a set of clear double lines,  encapsulating the developing salamanders inside. The embryos themselves appear to be at least a few weeks into their growth. Each has three pairs of external gills, a pair of so-called “balancers” sticking out from each cheek, a well developed tail fin, and a pair of stubby front legs. Every now and then, they will do a loop-de-loop inside their capsule as if testing out their swimming abilities, but for now they wait for the big moment when they will break out into the big world (any day now based on their stage of development).

We’ll get back to these little smallmouths at a later date in order to track their growth, but there is one more egg feature I’d like to point out  before we call this discussion over. You may have noticed that the eggs, although mostly consisting of clear gelatine, appear to be speckled or greenish.  These spots are actually evidence of a species of algae that grows within the gel. Eventually the entire cluster will take on a bright green hue due to the growth of these tiny plants.  The algae is question, called Oophilia amblystomalis, is only found on amphibian eggs. It is believed that the algae not only removes excess ammonia and nitrogen from the eggs, but also creates an oxygen rich environs for the larval salamanders.

A beneficial algae in symbiosis with a minimally-mouthed salamander? I’ll wager that you never saw that one coming!

When a Bald Eagle gets hurt in the line of duty around these parts, there’s a good chance that Dave Hogan will be involved in the recovery efforts. Dave is a raptor (bird of prey) specialist, falconer, and rehabilitator so he’s always there to assist dozens of ill-fated hawks, owls, vultures, and falcons throughout the year. Once or twice a year he gets the call to assist with recovering and nurturing an unfortunate eagle incapacitated by an injury.  Fortunately, this time I got the call – from Dave – that he needed to take an eagle in for an examination and he wanted to know if I could come along. I, of course, thought about it for exactly one-tenth of a second, and was on my way.

Dave recovered the bird earlier in the day at the Monroe Power plant along the Lake Erie shore. Hundreds of eagles overwinter at the site, so it is almost inevitable that one or two will accidentally run into something. An immature eagle was discovered on the grounds with an apparent wing or shoulder injury. He was able to get the bird in hand and put a temporary wrap around the wing to stabilize it. These big boys require an expert to handle them, so when I say “get the bird in hand,” it sounds so much easier than it really is. Once tackled, there is an immediate need to get control of those massive talon-armed feet. The equally formidable beak is of secondary concern, believe it or not. All this needs to be done with an eye towards keeping the bird’s stress level down and the captor’s health level at even keel.

We headed up to the Canton Center Animal Hospital with the eagle laying within a dog carrier sitting on the back seat of the truck. Amazingly, she was passive and quite relaxed, which is not always the case. This one never issued a peep during the whole examination process even though there was a definite fire glowing inside those pale eyes. Dr. Andy Granowski and a few assistants met us at the door and we carried the cage into the exam room and onto the metal table.

Grabbing those talons in one hand, with a finger between the legs as a spacer, the eagle was pulled out and un-wrapped. Dr. G gave it a once over and flexed the wing. The general consensus was that the bird had bruised, or possible broken, her coracoid bone – a bone similar to our collar bone.  There was no sign of external injury, on the bird that is. I couldn’t help noticing that the hands and arms of the veterinarian and his aides were covered with fresh and recently healed scratches. It looked as though they had stuck their appendages into a bramble thicket. I guess working with domestic animals can be as, if not more, hazardous as handling the wild ones.

It was quickly determined that an X-ray was needed to confirm the coracoid diagnosis. An anesthesia cone was slipped over the eagle’s face to put it to gentle sleep (see here and below)   After a few minutes those fiery eyes closed and the creature lapsed into an even heavy breathing (see here). It was carried over to the X-ray table (see here), centered in the projected light “window” and the shot was taken.

While the film was developing, I had time to give the eagle a good examination myself. She weighed 10 1/2 pounds, which puts it into the small female size range but there was some uncertainty. I dubbed  her with the neutral gender name of “Cory” just in case. She appeared to be a 3 year old individual based on a number of features. The beak, not yet at the bright yellow hue of the adult, was the color of a blond cow horn with light brownish streaks. Her eyes were pale straw yellow and the feathering on the head looked to be frosted with cream highlights. In fact, the whole body feathering was speckled with light tan, white, and dark brown. Only the thigh feathers were solid eagle brown. A look at the open wings (see here) revealed an even row of newer secondary feathers and there was a single growing feather, called a blood quill, just coming in on the left wing (see here).  All these features point to a so-called “Basic II” or an individual in her third year of life.

The X-ray (see below) delivered some good news. It revealed only slight damage – a tiny “green” fracture – on the coracoid and no other major injuries. On the image, you’ll notice the left “collarbone” (coracoid) is whiter than the the left one. This effect was caused by blood filling the hollow bone as a result of the trauma. Also, the doc pointed out the lack of testes in the body cavity, so the female identity was accurate.

I had a chance to cradle her like a baby as she came out of the anesthesia. Dr. Granowski gave her a final look over (see below) before I picked her up. At 10 pounds she was heftier than most human babies, but the feel was the same. But the 101 degrees F.  body temperature and distinctive fishy odor made this “baby” a sweaty smelly handful.

The treatment, in this case, consisted of  tightly wrapping the wing and allowing the fracture heal on it’s own. Basically we are talking bed rest with fluids and some anti-inflammatories. Dave would be the bird’s caretaker for the next few weeks to insure the healing process.  He was obviously relieved that this one would probably be released back into the wild to live to a ripe old age (30 plus for eagles). Until that release time comes, Cory couldn’t be in better hands.

Quick, before they explode!  Tree buds, like bird eggs, have to structurally “die” before they can fully perform their life task – which is to protect tender new life until it is ready to enter the cruel world stage. Over the course of the next month, successful tree buds will be exploding all over the place. Soon, they will be all gone.

It’s more traditional to consider the subject of tree buds during the winter time when there is no rush to the matter. To tell the truth, I’ve avoided the subject up until now mostly as a way to keep myself from using the title “This Bud’s for You.”  Unfortunately, I can’t hold it back any longer and I have to let out with some sort of bud discussion before I explode.

The only decent way to identify leafless deciduous trees is by looking at their three B’s – buds, barks, and berries.  There isn’t any indecent way, really, but I suppose you could perform this task while in the nude and achieve such a thing. You could also descend  quickly into indecency should you try to come up with alternate “B” words to fit my little tree I.D. phrase. Since time is a wast’n, however, there’s no place for such time squandering thoughts. We are already too late to examine Red Maple buds because they have already flowered in these parts (see below). Many lilacs and honeysuckles are also starting to send out some leaves. Fortunately, we have plenty of time to eyeball some pre-explosive hickory tree buds. These buds are for yo… er, I mean, us. Hickories offer at least two of the three “B’s” at the moment.

There are several species of hickory in S.E. Michigan. Two of the most common are the Bitternut and the Shagbark varieties. These trees are also among the easiest of their sort to identify both individually and from each other depending on how closly you examine them.

From a distance, the Shagbark is probably the most distinctive leafless tree in the region because of its tell-tale bark. True to name, the bark on the mature Shagbark peels off into long dangling strips (see here). No other trees – live ones anyway -look quite like it. The Bitternut exhibits a much tighter bark pattern with shallow interlacing furrows (see here). This tree looks as much like a maple as anything when mixed among other trees.

Up close, the branches and buds of these two nut trees are equally as different as the bark. In this case, the Bitternut bud takes on the distinctive quality. As you can see in the title picture, the simple buds are pubescent (hairy) and bright mustard yellow. In the world of budology (there is no such science, but it sounds nice) this type of bud is classified as valvate. This term means that it consists of only two parts or scales.

Shagbark buds are very different (look below). The terminal bud, that’s the one at the end of the twig, is fairly large, dull brown and made up of 3 to 4 overlapping scales. There’s a scientific term for that as well. Budmiesters call that style an imbricate bud.

 So there you have it in a nutshell. If there were proper space, we could go into the world of bud scars – those face shaped marks under each bud where the leaves were once attached. These are very good identifiers in themselves. Speaking of nutshells, we’ll also forgo the nutshell talk for now because this is more of a fall topic. If I’m to stick to current custom, this means that I’ll bring it up sometime next winter. The very name, hickory, is from the Algonquin word for oily nut meat “hiccora, ” so I admit it is borderline criminal not to talk nut. But, so be it. The purpose here was not to to make you nut wiser, it was to make you Bud wiser.

I’ve spent some time looking up at Downy Woodpeckers lately and discovered a few surprises.  Their distinctive drumming calls are now ringing through the spring woods and this auditory treat should be reason enough to merit attention. There is much more to these diminutive little wood whackers than that which meets the ear, however. Our smallest North American woodpecker exhibits some interesting  territorial dance behaviors as well.

The problem with woodpecker watching is that you have to break your neck doing it. These birds are basically creatures of the tree tops. For those us over “a certain age,” looking up for prolonged periods of time into those tree tops causes sustained fusion of the neck vertebrae and the need to spend a lot of followup time looking down. Luckily for all of us, the Downys do offer some immediate options to looking uppy.  Take those rapping calls, for instance.

You’ve probably noticed over the last few months there has been a resurgence of woodpecker rapping. All species do it. This is a sure sign that the breeding season is approaching. Having declared a moratorium on the practise since last September, the lengthening days awaken the need to send out territorial announcements and singles ads. All winter long the pecking has been of a purely functional nature – the result of chipping away at rotten wood to get at grubs. The new season requires a new approach to the wood percussion medium as a way to send out resonant tattoos.

Since Downy Woodpeckers have especially weak voices, their only way of really getting the message out to a wide audience is to drum it out on a dead tree (listen to Hammering here). The sound can carry for miles. This rapping message system is employed by males and females alike.  Females, in fact, may actually drum more than the males.

You’ll notice that the rapping is deliberately broadcast as a series of bursts. In the recording, the pattern is repeated every four seconds for a rate that would total around 15 per minute -a typical pace for Downy-rapping. Larger woodpeckers have significantly slower rap-rates.

This tapping serves to warn away rival males or females, but it also serves notice to mates who are house hunting. By hammering, a pair member can alert it’s mate to a potential nesting tree and the effect is to summon the partner to the spot. Males and females of a mated pair will also engage in reciprocal hammering as a way to perform an percussive duet of love!

I did allude at the get-go that there’s more to the Downy Woodpecker than just noise, and so there is.  It is occasionally fruitful to risk back injury in order to watch them as well. Towards this end, I have a short video I’d like you to view (see here). The trick is to stick with the whole sequence and it’ll give you a peek at the world of animal behavior. The interaction between two opposing Downy Woodpeckers is basically a silent affair. Armed with chisels as they are, you’d think these little guys (or gals) would peck each others eyes out, but they don’t. Their territorial interaction boils down to a dance of posture, pose, and motion. The behavior between same sex opponents consists of bill/head waving, motionless stand-offs, and something called “butterfly flapping.”

I won’t go into a deep explanation of all these steps except to say they pretty well are what they sound like. The stand- offs consist of pointing the bill straight up, flaring the tail and freezing into place. In this short sequence, the two birds stopped multiple times to face off – in one case for over 26 seconds. Head waving is a mechanical side to side swaying accompanied by flicks of the wing and tail. “Butterfly Flying” is so named because the woodpeckers will pump their wings in an exaggerated manner so as to display their impressively speckled wings to each other. The last few seconds of this clip shows a bit  of that fancy flying going on.

These birds kept up their dance long after I stopped shooting. I had to stop in order to perform a slow motion dance of my own in order to resume my neck alignment. It is essential to ignore the wavering hand of the cameraman when viewing this piece since it is the direct effect of physical pain. If you want stunning photo-realism then go watch “Planet Earth.”  Those guys would never dwell on the micro life of such common little things as black and white woodpeckers. Since most of us don’t have polar bears, penguins, or elephants tromping through our neighborhoods it is good to dwell on what is about you. You might learn a thing or two and get a spine adjustment the bargain.