Here’s a swell photo of a Sora we saw at Tavasci Marsh last weekend.  I’ve categorized this as a Spot the Bird, but your eye will probably go right to it, since it’s out in the open.  The little rail had whinnied a couple of times — Sora make a sound very much like those whizzie-rings you blow into wuh-wuh-w-w-w-w-w in a descending whinny — but because rails are so secretive, we never expected to see it, until it marched out into the open at water’s edge, and did its raily foraging thing.  Click to enlarge.  (Photo E.Shock)

… and we were — always — this Great horned owl (Bubo virginianus) was giving us the eye from our big backyard pine tree, right at sunset tonight.  The Gila woodpeckers, doves, and local hummers — both Anna’s and Black-chinned — were really ticked off at the eminence tigre, and zoomed and hovered threateningly.  I’m unable to report if the owl even noticed.

The noise of the scolding yard birds, and the nervous upward glances of the “wild” African collared dove, Hoover, tipped us off.

<< Great horned owl (Photo A.Shock)

Hiding behind a shred of pine-bough seems to be a mere formality for the large owl.  It’s probably looking for another Desert cottontail, to follow up the one it helped itself to part of on the weekend, leaving the rest of the bunny for the resident raccoons.

If you’re not familiar with Gilded flickers (Colaptes chrysoides), they are large desert woodpeckers, closely associated with Saguaros.  They excavate their nest cavities in the trunks of the giant cactus.  They’re closely related to Red-shafted and Yellow-shafted flickers who inhabit the western and eastern U.S., respectively.  Flickers are flashy in coloration, being spotted and barred, and having yellow feather shafts in their flight feathers and tail, visible when the bird is in flight.  They are loud, too, both vocally and when the males hammer territorially on hollow surfaces like the metal bird-guard on our chimney.

It’s the male flicker of this species who sports the brilliant red “moustache”.

<< A male Gilded Flicker peering at E as he snapped this photo, in our neighborhood (photo E.Shock)

The primary food of flickers is ANTS, and this large woodpecker frequently can be seen on the ground, foraging for them.  This is a really good reason to NOT POISON ANTS in your Flicker-inhabited yard: use non-toxic arthropod deterrents such as diatomaceous earth.  They also eat fruit and insects, nectar, pet kibble left outside, plant seeds, and will feed at bird feeders with nuts or suet.

Some things always amaze me.  One of them is why there are so many different Thrasher species in the arid Southwestern U.S.

Most of us who live in the Low Desert are used to two of the more common thrashers: the ubiquitous Northern mockingbird, its slender gray-and-white profile often seen on high perches, singing its melodious and varied song.  Our yard mockers rock their own vocalizations, but also the sounds of other birds, like cactus wrens, cardinals, and kestrels.  Our other common thrasher is the larger Curve-billed thrasher.  These are busy and athletic foragers, with big down-curved bills and a loud, ringing song.  They have a distinctive “wit-weet” call that people are aware of, even if they don’t know the name of the bird who’s making it in their backyard.

<< Bendire’s thrasher (Toxostoma bendirei)

But there’s another thrasher, very close in appearance to the Curve-billed, that breeds in the low desert, too, although it’s not as common.  It’s the Bendire’s thrasher.  Also a plain, mostly brown bird with a vivid and intelligent golden eye, it too has a strong, long bill, less de-curved than the Curve-billed, and pale at the base instead of dark (you can see this subtle field mark in the photo at left, especially if you click to enlarge).  It’s perhaps best distinguished by its song, which is “chewier” and to my ear, not as ringing as the Curve-billed.

In the last couple of weeks, E and I have been treated to a very bold Bendire’s thrasher singing from the tops of the sparse trees in a part of Papago Park where we walk several mornings a week.  Its chewy, bubbling song attracted our attention; I’m not sure we would have noticed it wasn’t a Curve-billed if we hadn’t heard it.

Bendire’s thrashers are known to inhabit the Park, but we hadn’t encountered one there before, so it’s been a treat for us to enjoy its consistent presence along our route.  We had a quick glimpse last week of a second nearby thrasher — it may have been another Bendire’s, so we’re wondering if this stretch of desert isn’t supporting a breeding pair.  We’re keeping our eyes open.

Etymology:

Toxostoma, the genus of some of the mimid thrashers like Curve-billed, Bendire’s, Crissal, California, Brown, and LeConte’s, is a compound name formed from two Greek elements, τόξον, bow, and στόμα, mouth, referring to the strong curved bill — in some cases extremely long and curved — of these birds.  They use it to turn over foliage and clear crevices of debris by moving it strongly from side-to-side, the action which gives them their type name, thrasher.  In search of insects and miscellaneous food items, they ream out all the stuff that settles between flagstones or cracks in the pool deck, leaving a line of turned-up crud along the joints in the cement, so we always know when the thrashers have been foraging there.

It’s time to post the Spot the Bird answers from the Twofer Spot the Bird a couple days ago — thanks to everyone who got back to Three Star Owl with your observations.  Finding the birds seemed to be fairly easy; ID’ing only a little less so. These two key photos are click-onable to embiggen, if you’d like to see even closer views of the subject birds. I’m not sure how your PCs work, but my Mac will allow me to enlarge twice by clicking once and then again, getting pretty close in.

<< The bird in the top photo is on the left edge of the main trunk, in the lower left corner of the photo.  It’s a Red-naped sapsucker; those of you who had guessed woodpecker, were definitely in the right category.

>> The little bird perched in the tip top mesquite twigs in front of the saguaro’s trunk is a Black-throated sparrow, a common desert dweller whose tinkling or jingling song is quite identifiable, and often heard in the Sonoran desert in spring.  Again, click on the photo to enlarge, to see the diagnostic black throat patch and white facial detail on this charming, gray sparrow.  For anyone who finds sparrow ID challenging, this is a great bird to get under your belt, as its markings are distinctive, and separable from all other sparrows.

Sue points out the pinnate leaves on the big tree are wrong for an oak, and suggests pecan; anyone else?  I’m sure she’s right that it’s not an oak, now that I notice the leaves; I’ll see if I can find out the big tree’s identity the next time I’m out at Boyce Thompson.  Thanks, Sue!

“Spot the Word”: Understandably, no one ventured on the etymological challenge — to compare kudos with kleos.  kudos, a Greek word roughly translated as “glory” is frequently used in current speech, but kleos, a related but slightly different concept, isn’t.  In their use in the Homeric epics, both are related to personal honor and fame: briefly, kudos is honor or a glorifying possession owned by a living man — it can be conferred on a person by someone else.  kleos refers to the fame people are said to have by others around them: related to the concept of reputation; it must be won by one’s own actions, but conferred by others.  Accruing kudos adds to your kleos.

For those with a burning desire to pursue these concepts, see:  Nature and Culture in the Iliad by James Redfield, for a thorough and thoughtful discussion.  Or not.  Believe me, like knowing kudos is a singular noun and not a plural, or knowing that saying “the hoi polloi” is redundant because “hoi” means “the” already, it will not necessarily make you more popular at most parties.

Just to even things up, here’s what it feels like to be BIRD-WATCHED:

(Photo E.Shock)

This is “Hoover” the semi-tame wild African collared dove who inhabits our neighborhood, wondering why we don’t have a handful of peanuts NOW.

To indulge in a moment of natural history, notice how the eye is set in a slightly pinched or narrow part of the bird’s head.  This enables both forward and rear vision, in addition to panoramic side-vision.  This eye placement is typical of prey animals (the pursued) rather than predators (the pursuer), whose eyes tend to be placed for superior forward vision.  Except for the beak (!), a dove’s head shape is very much like a rabbit’s.  Without the big ears, of course, which would definitely be an aerodynamic liability.

For other Three Star Owl posts featuring Hoover, click here.

Here are two new Spot the Bird photos.  The visual puzzle is the same in each: huge background, tiny bird.  No camouflage involved, none at all; just hiding against a big landscape.

The first photo of an enormous oaktree (?) in Boyce Thompson Arboretum near Superior Arizona, east of Phoenix, is a photo I took because the branches of this tree were so amazingly massive and lofty.  It was only when I got it home and onto the computer that I noticed there was a bird in the shot, because it had been silent.  Lucky it wasn’t a jaguar, I guess.  By the way, you’re not looking for an intrinsically small bird, just small by comparison to this tree.  (If you find the bird, click twice for a fairly clear embiggening of its image).

I think this second one is easier, especially if you click to enlarge. This photo, ostensibly of a robust saguaro behind a line of newly leafed-out mesquite and the foot of a basalt flow in back, shows a genuinely small bird — a moderately Dinky Dude of the Desert, in fact — doing its singing thing for spring. Hear the jingling sound?

Neither of these will be hard for everyone, especially for folks whose eyes are sharp from being out in the field looking for small things in big, leafy vistas.  I’ll publish enlarged versions of the pictures in a subsequent post.  Extra credit for IDing the birds to species (not that there’s a prize or anything, except kudos to augment your birding kleos.  And, to wax perturbingly didactic, EXTRA extra credit if you know the diff between kudos, Gk κῦδος, and kleos, κλέος).

And if you know what the big tree in the top photo is, please let me know, because I don’t…

Good Luck — I hope you SPOT THE BIRD!

For other Spot the Bird posts, go to the sidebar on the left, and click on the category, spot the bird.

(Top photo, A.Shock; bottom photo, E.Shock)

A while back, I posted about my process for making horned lizard bowls (affectionately known as Horny toads) from clay.  Here are the next few steps, all shown in one photo, below.

To the right is a now completely assembled and textured horned lizard, in the leather hard stage, drying.  In the center is a bone dry and partially tinted lizard — note that the clay is now a lighter buff.  I use a sponge and mute slip colors to give the textured skin a mottled appearance, like a horned lizard’s camo-flecked pelt.  (You may remember that slip is a paint-like water and clay mixture with mineral oxides and stains added.)   The colors, which look very contrasty and unnatural at this point, will calm down and become more subtle during firing.  Normally, adding slip is done no later than the leather hard stage to avoid flaking, but the refined slips I use have no problems hanging on.  On the left is a completed horned lizard awaiting its first, or bisque, firing. I’ve added the ants with a very fine brush (a 00 squirrel liner), also in slips.  This is a touchy job: the fine work requires a fairly long process of painting delicate lines — the more ants, the longer the work time — and a lot of handling of a bone dry piece with pointy sticky-outy bits.  If you’ve worked with clay you know that this bone-dry phase (where all the liquid water has evaporated from the clay body) is when a piece is at its most fragile.  On top of that, if something like a horn, a toe or a leg snaps off, it is difficult or even impossible to reattach it trustworthily.  Not that… ahem… that ever happens, or if it did I would admit it… These guys, Regal Horned Lizards, have 10 coronal horns, and so I have to be careful while “anting” them.

<< A favorite teeshirt of E‘s, a mimbres horned lizard design.  Nice depiction of the lateral spiny scales along its flanks.

A note on the ants.  They are Pogonomyrmex, a genus of harvester ants, called Pogos for short, understandably.  These are the guys you see issuing forth from their nests, with every seed and scrap of vegetation gleaned clean to the grit for a 5 meter radius around the entrance.  They have a potent and painful bite, but despite that, they are Horned lizards’ most favoritest thing to eat.  It’s tough to capture their essence in a sludgy, opaque medium like clay slip, because they’re waxy like tropical fruit: sort of clear but satiny, too.  I can get close to the effect by depicting them with highlights in white on their red bodies.

Pogonomyrmex ants photographed at Kartchner Caverns State Park (A.Shock)   >>

They’re extraordinary animals: physically very strong, and focused in their social pursuits, with big bolster-like heads (which appear to be larger than their abdomens) sporting impressive grasping mouthparts you would have no trouble seeing with your naked eye, if you got close enough.  Or, you can just click on the photo above — which I call Pogos Agogo — and look at the solitary ant to the lower left.

If you love excellent up-your-nose close-up photos of ants (and who doesn’t?) check out the site of Alex Wild, myrmecologist, or studier of ants.  Better still click here to see his photos of Pogo ants in particular, to get a much better view of the fearsome mouthparts than in my photo above.

Etymological side-bar. In Homer’s Iliad, Achilles’ posse were the Myrmidons. μύρμηξ, myrmex, is ant in Greek.

You can see finished horned lizard bowls in the Three Star Owl Shop.

Sometimes when you say “Goats in Trees,” people say, “No way.”

Way.

Here are goats in trees.

(Photo by E.Shock; Oman, 2010)