Posts Tagged 'owls'

Saw Whet

Of all the many services provided here at Backyard & Beyond, bird identification tops the list. Want to know what kind of owl that is in your backyard? You could look it up, of course, like my friend Zina Saunders did when she saw an owl outside her window. This was in the air/light shaft of her apartment building in the Inner Borough (as we call Manhattan with great fondness). After some research, she thought it was a Northern Saw-whet (Aegolius acadicus). She was right. In this case, I merely confirmed from her picture:Aegolius acadicus As Zina said, finding the owl in this cell phone shot is a bit like Where’s Waldo — this is one brick-feathered owl.Aegolius acadicus Does it look a little like Vanessa Redgrave circa 1967? The round head and the V pattern on the face are the clues here.

The Saw-whet is probably the most common of our northeastern owls, but because it’s so small (with an 8″ length) and, generally, nocturnal, it’s not often seen. They usually spend their days nestled in trees and bushes (less so in apartment building valleys). It also has a reputation for being fairly tame. I’ve heard one ornithologist argue that what we’re witnessing isn’t tameness (which is our definition, after all) but rather the bird’s defensive/aggressive pose: it’s staring down all comers.

Here’s a Saw-whet I saw in da Bronx a couple years ago.

There’s an even smaller owl in the U.S., the southwestern Elf owl; at 5.75″, it’s smaller than a House sparrow.

What to do when an owl shows up in your backyard:
1) Don’t panic.
2) Leave it alone.
3) Marvel.

The Case of the Headless Mouse

It was as cold as a Titmouse on a bare oak branch that morning. The call came in from the Mammal Division. I’d fallen asleep in my suit, Kirkegaard propped against my noise. My tongue felt like it had been ground up for dog-food and probably smelled like that, too, but I shook off my hangover with three fingers of the good stuff and shelved my existential brooding. By the time I’d got to Central I was showered, shaved, and wearing an unstained clip-on tie. I felt like a freshly re-charged cell phone battery and I didn’t care who knew it.

The scene wasn’t pretty. Some joker had decapitate a White-footed mouse, Peromyscus leucopus to the lab boys, and left it lying under a pine.Peromyscus leucopusThe dame who’d found the stiffening rodent was being calmed down by the social workers who pass as beat cops. She was as glazed over as a frosted cupcake. Her toy dog, dressed as expensively, was yipping in excitement. You and me too, kid.

“Poor bastard never knew what hit him,” said the Inspector, approaching to shake my hand and press a couple of flyers about the fall fundraiser into my palm.

“You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” I asked.

“That’s why I called you.” She took a sip of her steaming soy latte. “We need a bird brain on the case.”

I tried some of her latte without asking about it. “Whew! Who cooks for you?”

“Lactose is for cows,” she said. “Cut the banter and give me your professional opinion.”

“Open and shut,” I said. “When in doubt, look up.”

So we did, into the pines above. A good place to hide for this kind of perp, who do their best work in night.

Half a dozen pairs of eyes looking up there, into more than half a dozen trees. But trust someone in the Ornithology Division to distinguish the cones from the Strigiformes. They don’t call me Falconeye Wills for nothing.Strix varia“There he is,” I said. Straight up from the corpse. Barred owl. Strix varia to us nerds. And probably well-fed, taking only the protein-rich brain and leaving the rest for the scavengers.

See also all the jaw bones in owl pellets.

Owls Real and Artistic

Brooklyn’s owls aren’t just wheat-paste works, but this piece of art is certainly easier to see. On Hall St. in Clinton Hill. Anybody know the artist?

An injured Saw-whet was found in Sea Gate last month and taken to the bird hospital.

And this fledgling Great Horned Owl (Bubo virginianus), one of two known to be born in Brooklyn last spring:

All my posts on owls local and far, including 2011′s Owl Week.

Owl Week: Golden

There are some 181 species of owls in the world. Nineteen breed in North America. The one above is one of the many symbolic or metaphysical types. You’ll find it atop the ornate entrance of the Brooklyn Public Library, Central Branch, Grand Army Plaza, along with the golden characters of some great American books.

Glaukos, the Owl of Athena — or Minerva when in Rome– is a symbol of wisdom; this bird is named for its “glaring eyes.” Grey-eyed Athena, whom you pretty much always want on your side, is also sometimes referred to as the glaring-eyed one. The wise old owl is thus an old, old trope. Walt Kelly plays nicely with this with Howland Owl, the nearsighted dingbat of the swamp, a pretentious pseudo-intellectual given to expound on the “geophizzical” while wearing a wizard’s — or dunce’s — cap.

But owls are also symbols of death, for their calls are supposed to presage it. And, of course, owls are familiars of witchcraft. Why? The night, and those great big gleaming eyes. The silence of their flight (their feathers are specially adopted to hush the wind.) The blood-curdling sounds some of them make: hooooooooooo. Certainly the foresight of death and magic are quite serious kinds of wisdom. Interestingly, Asian notions of the owl seem to have come across the Bering Strait, for Native American owl myths are quite similar to Old World ones.

We can’t leave without the most Hegelian of them all, in perhaps one of his most famous moments, the owl of Minerva flying at dusk:

“One more word about giving instruction as to what the world ought to be. Philosophy in any case always comes on the scene too late to give it… When philosophy paints its gloomy picture then a form of life has grown old. It cannot be rejuvenated by the gloomy picture, but only understood. Only when the dusk starts to fall does the owl of Minerva spread its wings and fly.” — G.W.F. Hegel, 1820

Owl Week: Owling

The best way to see an owl is to follow the birders.

Owl sightings, especially in the city, are rare, exotic, and spectacular. As such they attract crowds. This can be a problem, since during the day, which is of course when we see best, owls sleep. Crowds can keep the animal awake and stress it out, perhaps even clue in its enemies (crows, jays, etc., mob owls) as to its location.

Yet the appeal of owls is very powerful. The twilight fly-out of these birds from their roost is a near magical experience. That experience in the city is even more so. So we have a classic confrontation between human curiosity/desire and the imperatives of stewardship. One of the ways that is resolved is with birding ethics, which urge that the location of an owl is not publicized. And this should be a given for any nature observation: walk softly and respectfully, do no harm.

The checklist of NYC birds I use lists Barn, Eastern Screech, Great Horned, Snowy, Barred, Long-eared, Short-eared, and Northern Saw-whet. All are rare or extremely rare in all seasons. Personally, within the bounds of the five boroughs, I’ve seen Barn, Eastern Screech, Great-horned, Northern saw-whet, and Boreal, a most unexpected visitor to the pines around the old Tavern on the Green some years ago, not including captive raptor demonstrations (where my better pictures come from).

Barn owls breed in Jamaica Bay in nest boxes put up for the purpose (the one pictured above is a captive bird from a rehab facility). Great horned owls have attempted to breed in Brooklyn the last couple of years. A few Snowy owls from the far north are sometimes found along the barrier beaches of Queens and the rest of Long Island in winter. The smaller owls, meanwhile, come and go, many most likely unseen by even the best of the bird dogs, as I call the hard core birders.

Signs and portents:

Most birding is done by day, when most birds are active. A good thing, if you like birding. After all, it’s nigh impossible to see in the dark. Unless you’re owl. So it’s more likely that you’ll see see signs of owl before you ever see an owl.
Owls gulp their prey whole and then later throw up pellets of undigested fur, feathers, and bones. Many people may remember these pellets from biology classes, where they are dissected to analyze the contents. The wetter, fresher, ones look rather turd-like; the older, dryer ones are softer and furrier. The one pictured, formerly a mole or shrew or mouse, was found in the New York Botanical Garden. (Here are some I found last Thanksgiving outside the city.)

Because they usually roost in the same places, owl droppings are another sign. These very liquidy droppings, called whitewash since they generally look like that, or, intriguingly, mutes*, can collect on tree trunks or underneath trees. Not to be confused with the generally whitish sap of conifers.

Owls are generally silent during the day. At night, marking their territory or engaged in mating rituals, they can be very vocal. Each owl species has its distinctive calls and sounds. Get to know them. I “saw” my first Barred owl initially with my ears. The Cornell Lab is renowned for its bird recordings.

*Mute: noun and verb, from the Middle English muten from, ultimately, the Old French esmeltier, melt, defecate. Can be used for all birds, but I’ve only heard it in context of owls.

Owl Week continues…

Owl Week: Great Horned

So far during Owl Week here at B&B, we’ve seen some of the smaller owls, which are rare for Brooklyn per se. But today we have the Great Horned owl, Bubo virginianus, which is big and bold and most definitely living here in Kings County. This picture is from two winters ago. Unfortunately, the nest failed that year. Later, that massive old tree was cut down, so the owls had to find another nesting site. They did, but again, last year, the pair of them failed to produce any offspring.

It’s hard be an owl in Brooklyn, but the Great Horned seems to be the most flexible of North American owls in terms of its ecological niches and breeding habitats. (And you know what they say about NYC, if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.)

Great Horned owls generally nest very early in the year, which means they have more of the elements to worry about. As you can imagine, the very cold and the very wet (rain is worse than snow) are great hazards to vulnerable eggs and hatchlings. The owls seem to do this so that their young are born, and hungry, when other bird species are nesting, and hence particularly vulnerable to predation.

This is the owl that makes the classic “hoo-hoo-hoo” owl sound, the one most people think all owls sound like. To hear it in the woods… or on the streets of the borough, is a magical thing.

Very cat-like are the eyes.

Owl Week: Saw-whet

The Northern Saw-whet owl, Aegolius acadicus, being owly in a conifer, the only trees that provide cover during the winter months. Nocturnal animals, owls sleep and rest during the day either in cavities or deep within the protective branches of trees.

This photo was taken in the New York Botanical Garden two winters ago. The garden also hosts Great-horned owls, who, being one of our largest and boldest predators, will often be seen roosting in the relative open. Saw-whets are often considered tame because they don’t immediately flee from people, but according to the Cornell Lab, their staying in place is actually the way they defend their territory. So bugger off, hominid. Here’s some more info on a Saw-whet banding project in PA. I’ve read elsewhere that the Saw-whets may be our most common owl, and this banding project certainly suggests there are a lot of them.

One showed up briefly in Park Slope this past November.

Saw-whets are named for the supposed similarity of their vocalizations to the sound of a saw being sharpened on a whet stone. Um, it’s been a while since I did that, though…so to me it sounds a little more like sonar in a submarine movie.

Saw-whets, like most of our owls, are opportunistic eaters. Great Horned owls, the biggest species, tends to go for larger prey, while the little owls eat small mammals like mice, shrews, voles; they eat birds and bats; they eat frogs, snakes, salamanders, and lizards (actually, we do have lizards in the region; imported Italian fence lizards to be exact); they eat snails, worms, and insects, lots of insects. There are no, or very few, insects in winter, so their eating is also seasonal.

Owl Week continues….

Owl Week: Screech

A Eastern Screech owl, Otus asio. These photographs were taken at a raptor demonstation at the Queens Co. Farm Museum a couple of years ago. Such birds are partially rehabilitated rescuees who can’t be released back into the wild
The Screech owl comes in three forms, or morphs: gray, brown, or red, as here. It’s a small owl, but not our region’s smallest: the Northern Saw-whet owl holds that distinction (in the Southwest, the Elf owl is even smaller, barely larger than a sparrow).

There have been a few attempts to re-introduce Screech owls into Central Park, but that’s a tough gig: cars, unconscionably allowed on the Park drives — as they are in Prospect — kill them. It’s a rare bird for Brooklyn, but not unheard of. And speaking of hearing, sound is a surefire way to identify the owls, who all have distinctive voices. The Screech’s eerie whinny is here. Screech owls like to roost in tree cavities, so they are seldom found out on branches, unless it is near twilight and they are preparing to fly into the dark. But the tips of their “ears” (they’re not ears, which are unseen, and located further down) and their eyes peeking out of a hole in a tree, now, that’s something to see.

Note the bird’s bill here. It makes it seem as if the bird’s mouth is rather small, but in fact owls have very wide mouths. (The better to eat you with, my dear.) The mouth is hidden behind all those feathers.

A Screech owl was spotted in my neighborhood in late 2009, but alas not by me, and it turned out to be the first recorded sighting in Brooklyn in half a century — but I’d put money on there being more than we know.

This is the first of several postings on owls in New York City. In mock honor of TV’s hyped “shark weeks,” I’m calling it Owl Week. Hoot!

Remains of the night

Out Madaket way, a row of arbor vitae had been cut back recently because they were crowding the road. Underneath were dozens of bodies. Was it the work of a serial killer? No, some owls had been feeding.
Pellets are what these regurgitated masses of prey vomited up by birds are called. A number of species expel pellets, but owl pellets are the best known. Since owls often eat in the same place night after night, the pellets can pile up, and, in addition, their digestive juices aren’t as strong as, for instance, diurnal raptors, so bones are preserved whole.
And sharp as in these mouse jaws. Owls hack up entire skeletons along with the fur of their meal. The pellets are regularly used in both school biology classes for dissection and by biologists studying owl predation.
At the beginning of the new year, I will be presenting a series of posts about owls right here in Brooklyn (oh, yes) and maybe some of those other boroughs, too. Stay tuned for “Owl Week.”

Natural object: Owl pellet

An owl pellet from the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, “collected” on Tuesday. Owls are gobblers, scarfing down their food whole. The undigestible bits of bone and fur and feather are coughed up in pellets. You may have dissected some in school (I missed out), because you can pretty much put together what the owl ate by examining the bones.
This one I found back in November in Chincoteague, VA.
And this one comes from last winter, in the New York Botanical Garden, up in the Bronx. I saw a Great Horned owl and Saw-whet owl (life bird) that day. The jaw bone of a small mammal is very much visible here.


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