A Few Notes on Animal Behavior

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Watching and photographing wildlife is a great way to learn about wildlife behavior. Even photographing birds on my feeder has provided some wonderful insights into the personalities of different birds. Other people may have different interpretations, but I see definite trends.

Cardinals, for instance, seem to be aloof and proud birds; when they notice me watching, their look is often stern and belligerent.

Woodpeckers remind me of boxers that have been hit in the head too many times, ducking blows that aren't there as if they were still battling a tree trunk. They often look a bit glassy eyed as if they’re dazed, and the look is often indifferent.

Chickadees and Titmice are, to me, the clowns of the Midwestern bird feeder world, with Titmice usually winning that contest when they turn back to look at me from their perch before leaping into the air, a sunflower seed in their beak, with a look that is comical and joyous, much like that of a friend who has just put a frog in your soup which you haven’t noticed yet. . . .

Titmice remind me of Dolphins.

One day I was sitting in the hot tub and a Titmouse flew over and sat on the edge and looked at me for half a minute or so before flying away… as this is not usual Titmouse behavior I figured it meant the bird feeder was empty, which it was.

Hummingbirds, after being gone all winter, come back in the spring and hover next to the windows looking in, trying to attract my attention to put up the feeder; one apparently got tired of hovering and sat on the walk outside the sliding glass door to the living room waiting for me to notice... 

I was sitting on the porch with my camera taking pictures of Hummingbirds and a Hummingbird was chasing another round and round, not letting it use the feeder or settle anywhere for a rest; the one being chased finally flew over to me and hovered 6 inches from my face; I felt the wind from its wings on my cheek as it turned to look at me, then turned back to look at the other Hummingbird that kept its distance; it was so similar to the behavior of human children it changed the way I saw Hummingbirds. “Nyah Nyah, can’t get me over here, Feather Brains.” The one being chased not only figured out that this might work, but had to overcome its wariness of humans to try it, and in one small moment communicated intelligence and awareness that birds are seldom given credit for. It is also odd how such small, sweet birds can be so territorial and hostile that they are forever pestering each other.

...But Hummingbirds aren’t the only creatures that pester each other; a single Dragonfly may claim a fourth of my pond as its territory, quietly sitting on its tiny branch, wings spread, waiting for a tasty bug to pass by, or the expected invasion of it’s territory by another Dragonfly, which creates a scene of aerial combat the Red Baron would envy. Many have ragged wings, perhaps from fighting. As for me, I can’t tell when they are watching me, but obviously they are, and seldom let me get closer than six feet, which seems to be their circle of comfort for humans.

A Preying Mantis, on the other hand, will calmly turn its head to see what I’m up to, apparently certain that I am not a threat, or perhaps just as certain that if I am, it will simply reach out and rip my head off. Many Spiders, however, despite their small size, will turn to face me, forelegs raised in the air, daring me to fight, not the slightest bit concerned about the size difference. Wolf Spiders are the worst that I know of, and will rear up with an attitude that actually makes me wonder if they are going to leap into the air and bite my nose or some other sensitive spot. Tarantulas, despite being much larger, couldn’t really care less about humans, though I’ve never annoyed one to discover the limits.

White-tailed Deer are supreme athletes, ever watchful but easily swayed; they are usually successful at avoiding most natural predators, though have no chance against a rifle, and apparently lack the intelligence to figure out that jumping in front of the Big Fast Things is a bad idea.

Not that I’m putting down the intelligence of Deer, but cars kill an awful lot of Deer and Possum, but not so many Raccoons, and hardly any Crows, Vultures, Magpies, or Ravens, all of whom hang out on the highways eating road kill, putting themselves in constant danger; apparently they can eat and watch for the Big Fast Things and still get out of the way in time. Perhaps the Crows take turns watching to warn the others, and had to shorten the name of the Big Fast Things to something much faster to say, as those that stayed long enough to say “Big Fast Thing Coming” usually were booted off the evolutionary ladder. Animal behaviorists believe they have traced this evolution to the east coast of the United States, specifically in the Boston Crow, where the use of “Big Fast Thing” was replaced by “CAH”… This exact call may be specific to the Boston Crow, since inland from the east coast it is often pronounced as if it has a “w,” as in “CAW,” but humans adopted a slight variation of the word and no longer use the word "automobile" very much, perhaps for the same reason.

Deer, on the other hand, look around and say “EEEK, a Big Fast Thing is coming; I’d better leap across this big trail fast before it gets here…..” Though this has repeatedly been shown to be the wrong choice, evolution hasn’t yet managed to filter out this trait, and it may be a measure of Deer Intelligence that it is taking them so long to adapt to the presence of human technology.

…But evaluating intelligence is a complicated matter of perception and environment. Dumb as Deer seem to be about Big Fast Things, they look pretty smart next to the many humans in movies, who, confronted by a hostile Big Fast Thing, often run right down the middle of the trail directly in front it, without ever thinking to themselves, “Maybe I should get off this big trail and run through those trees where the Big Fast Thing can’t go.” Apparently evolution needs more time to select against this trait in humans also.

Vultures… disdained by many despite their mastery of the air and the importance of their mission, are always on their wings, watching for opportunities; they look down at me to see if I’m still moving, but if I am they’re a “glass is half full” type of bird and aren’t disappointed, they just patiently circle off in another direction… but one thing is certain…they’ll be back…

Horses can be graceful, elegant, caring, intelligent, stubborn, athletic, firm, and sometimes ruthless; wild horses have many scars, but they are also loving and protective parents. Humans, on the other hand, turn wild horses into dog food.

Marmots, and, of course, Squirrels, know a good thing when they see one, and if fed by a human, will keep an eye out for more, like Raccoons and Corvids, including Crows, Ravens, Magpies and Jays.

Raccoons are able to problem solve to get what they want, and are also capable of seeking revenge, apparently merely for the sake of striking back. After a month long battle to keep Raccoons out of my compost bin, where they repeatedly foiled my efforts to keep them out using a metal grill, then adding heavy rocks, then a hinge, I finally fastened it down with a chain and a latch they couldn’t manipulate; the next morning many of the tomatoes in my garden had raccoon tooth marks; they didn’t eat any of them, they don’t appear to like tomatoes, they just bit them to get even and continued this for several weeks before deciding I wasn’t going to let them back into the compost bin, and they finally stopped and never did it again.

The fish in my pond get fed in the summer, but not in the winter when there is an ice cover. In the spring, after not being fed for three or four months, I can walk to the pond and they will be there waiting; I can only imagine that they hear my footsteps through the earth and into the water. They follow me as I walk along the Dam, and again when I turn and walk back, their little fins sticking out of the water and making tiny wakes on the surface. Walking the Fish? Yes I know, most people consider fish to be pretty unintelligent, but I’m really no longer very sure about that.

I once had a Jersey dairy cow, who spent most of her time in my pasture alone; she once grabbed a red handkerchief that was dangling from my back pocket and ran across the pasture with it hanging from her mouth, jumping up and down on all fours trying to get me to chase after her, which I did, this time and others, very much to her delight. I seem to remember some documentary remarking on how the ability, or need, to play, in humans was a mark of human intelligence, something that set them apart from the “lower” animals, but many animals need and enjoy play, and use it to learn and bond, even with other species if necessary.

Many creatures seem truly proud of their accomplishments. They often seem most aware of me as a  watcher when they are carrying a successful hunt. They often stop what they are doing and pose, as if proudly displaying their catch; or, if they were humans, that’s what we would call it, and I am inclined to give them that much credit.

I grew up in a world where many considered all life except humans to be “soul-less and unintelligent,” with the possible exception of dogs and cats, and, of course, dog owners aren’t too sure about cats, and the other way around. There are many today who would still say the same thing, but I see intelligence nearly everywhere I look...with some possible exceptions...mostly in the human world.

These days my photography seems to be a celebration of our world and the life that shares it; it is a chance to appreciate the wildlife and beauty around us that often needs our help to survive. Perhaps by now this is a cliché among nature photographers, or perhaps it just takes a lot of us to make a difference. Humans are changing the world, and we must make sure we don’t destroy it or our fellow Earthlings in the plant and animal world; and that really does take some intelligence.
 

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