Monday, September 18, 2006

The True Grit of Sparrows

Monday, September 18, 2006
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A male house sparrow on a nest box it stole from bluebirds. (Boo! Hiss!)

Some birds will do anything for a little grit.

Birds have no teeth for crushing food items, so they utilize small, hard pieces of stone, eggshell, or sand as an abrasive digestive helpers. This is known as grit. Grit is consumed and housed in the bird's crop where it helps to break up food. Grit is a commonly consumed staple especially for birds that eat lots of seeds or insects with hard exoskeletons.

We see lots of examples of birds eating grit.

Our barn swallows spend most summer afternoons sitting on the front yard powerline, waiting, like vultures at an abattoir, for us to throw some eggshells onto the sidewalk and garage roof. I've seen evening grosbeaks hit along winter roadsides where they were ingesting small bits of rock salt and cinders. I've seen purple martins, aerial insect eaters, scarfing up eggshells from feeding platforms during the breeding season. We've even published articles in BWD about paint-eating blue jays! All of these birds are after grit to aid their food processing.

As a kid, in the early 1970s, I often noticed house sparrows clinging to the brick foundation of the neighbors' house and I wondered what was up. It was years later that I figured out that they were getting dietary grit from the sand in the mortar between the bricks. The old mortar was just soft enough for the hefty-billed sparrows to nibble away at it. If this went on forever, in theory, all the mortar would be consumed and the house would tumble to the ground. But the neighborhood cats and the resident sharp-shinned hawk probably kept the house sparrows in check, so the house is still standing all these years later.

On a recent visit to my parents' home I noticed that the foundation bricks on the neighbors' house had been painted gray. Standing in stark contrast were the pale divots between the bricks where the sparrows were still getting their grit--30 years after I first noticed it. And who knows how long the sparrows have been at it there. Certainly the first house sparrow that discovered this particular grit source is long dead. But I'll bet some of his or her great-great-great-great grandbirds are still here munching mortar!

And how cool is that?

If you look closely you can see a male house sparrow getting his grit, slowly demolishing this house one nibble at a time.

A close-up view of the sparrows' grit-gathering site. It would be interesting to compare these HOSPs to others that do not get their grit in this fashion. Have they worn down their bills accessing the grit? Over time, would a sparrow evolve with a bill like a bricklayer's trowel?

Saturday, September 16, 2006

Ohio's Birding Club

Saturday, September 16, 2006
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This photo only shows a fraction of the OOS board, but it's an enthusiastic fraction. Special thanx to Jen S for her hospitality and logistical support.


I am a founding board member of the Ohio Ornithological Society (a fancy-sounding name for Ohio's largest and most avid bird club) and today we had one of our board meetings at the Hebron Fish Hatchery near Buckeye Lake, Ohio. Early morning fog prevented those of us arriving early from seeing many birds, but it did not prevent us from having an effective meeting.

"I call for a motion for Bill to continue his blog and not talk anymore about the super-secret inner workings of the OOS board."
"So moved"
"Do I hear a second?"
"Second."
"All in favor of Bill continuing his blog, please signify by saying "Aye."
"AYE!"
All opposed?
A distant horse says "Neigh."
"The motion carries."


While trying to find birds in the fog, we admired any number of dew-covered orb weavers.

I made a new friend in the forest and then, gasped as I noticed the damage to its body. Later, I realized this damage was caused by all the killdeer living in the hatchery. They cannot leave a defenseless deer alone. And you thought killdeer were just shorebirds? Well, they are stone-cold killers, amigo. Look into their eyes--they burn with the fire of a top-line predator.

Killdeer loafing on the dike between impoundments. Later in the day this flock flew into the woods to hunt for deer.
This super-sized bullfrog was spotted by Jim McCormac along one of the impoundments. He was so big, we thought he was fake. Of course, that's also what we often think of Jim.
Jimbo! Just kidding, giant dude!

Jim McCormac, the Incredible Hulk of Ohio birding and the President of the Ohio Ornithological Society. Here he is scanning the Hebron Hatchery ponds for dragonflies--his new favorite pursuit is Odonata-watching.

As for me, I'm waiting for the "Dragonflying By Ear" audio guide.

Friday, September 15, 2006

Giant Things of Iowa

Friday, September 15, 2006
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When I was just a tadpole of a lad growing up in the quiet Midwestern town of Pella, Iowa, my dad worked in Des Moines, Iowa's capitol city. He was the press secretary for then-Governor Bob Ray and it was a big deal for my brother Andy and me to visit Des Moines to see Dad at work. As I recall, we'd make the hour-long trip several times a year, Mom driving, the kids wrestling around the back of the Ford station wagon--to shop for back-to-school clothes, to visit the fabulous Iowa State Fair in the summer, and to do other things we could not then do in Pella (like go to Iowa's only McDonald's!).

The road from Pella into Des Moines went right past the Andersen-Erickson Dairy plant, on the eastern edge of Des Moines, near the state fairgrounds. And the sight we looked most forward to seeing was the pair of giant milk cows standing near the A-E corporate headquarters. Someone would always tell the story about the Iowa farmer who was attending the fair, got drunk (somehow), and was found by the police trying to milk the AE cow statue. True story? I doubt it. The Iowa farmers I know prefer to drink Mountain Dew or really weak coffee.

During our recent Iowa trip I got a special rush of nostalgia when we passed the giant Andersen-Erickson milk cows. The last time I cast eyes upon them Spiro Agnew was our vice president. There they were, perhaps the first Giant Things I ever noticed. Only this time the comments of my fellow passengers had to do not with tipsy farmers, but with the fact that the baby bull milk cow was surely destined for a sad end (perhaps to end up in a Maid-Rite burger) and that somebody had better milk that big cow soon, because her milk bag looks pretty full.

I do loves me my Giant Things.

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