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About Author: Mike Grue

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3

Metallic Starlings: Showstoppers

By
Mike Grue
– October 2, 2012Posted in: Animal Stories, Animals and Plants, Animals site sub feature, Birds, Uncategorized

An adult metallic starling watches the action in the Owens Aviary.

At first glance, an adult metallic starling looks completely black with bright red eyes. Upon closer inspection, a visitor is rewarded with an iridescent collage of blues, purples, and greens. If one lone metallic starling is something to give you pause, the polychromatic flock of over 60 starlings in the Owens Aviary at the San Diego Zoo is always a complete showstopper!

A metallic starling puts the finishing touches on its nest.

The metallic starlings start their breeding season in early spring. For these months the starlings are only interested in nesting material (see October’s digital ZOONOOZ article on Owen’s Aviary for their nest-building shenanigans). Once the nests are fairly well built, we know we have only a few weeks—the incubation time for a metallic starling egg—before the flock switches from being crazy for nesting material to being batty for bugs! Adult metallic starlings are omnivores and eat everything from fruit and nectar to crickets, mealworms, ants, and wasps! Baby starlings, however, need a lot more protein than their parents, hence their dependence on bugs for the first few weeks.

After being fed a diet of mealworms and crickets to help feather and muscle development, a growing chick is eventually brought fruit and pellets to pack on the ounces. About three weeks after hatching, the chick is ready to make its first flight. The chick has to scoot to the small hole of its enclosed nest, jump out, spread its wings, and try to land on a nearby perch. With a healthy set of lungs and a loud chirp, the chick is able to advertise its new location to Mom and Dad. The parents are still responsible for feeding the chick for a few more weeks as it learns how to eat a bug without one being placed directly into its gaping mouth!

A juvenile metallic starling still sports its “baby” colors.

We start to see young starlings leaving their nests from the beginning of June through late August. When they first leave the nest, they have dark eyes, black-and-white streaked chests, and yellow markings on their bill. As they develop, they quickly lose their yellow markings and slowly get some red coloring in their eyes. It takes a full year before they trade in their streaked chests for smooth, glossy black ones and their dull, red eyes for brilliant ruby-colored ones.

In September and October we see the starling colony settle down into its new routines. The newest members of the flock stick closely together and explore their huge exhibit free from their parents’ watchful eyes. The chicks from the previous summer have just attained their adult plumage; since they will be old enough to breed next spring, they do a lot of “showing off” for possible future mates. The adults that have just survived yet another crazy breeding season are able to take a breather and relax before the madness of nest-building season starts once again.

No matter what time of year it is, be sure to check out the metallic starlings and their many avian neighbors in the Owen’s Aviary at the San Diego Zoo.

Mike Grue is a senior keeper at the San Diego Zoo. Read his previous post, A Big Story for a Little Goose.

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3

A Big Story for a Little Goose!

By
Mike Grue
– September 5, 2012Posted in: Animal Stories, Animals and Plants, Birds, Uncategorized

A male cotton pygmy goose relaxes on a log.

In my previous post about white-faced whistling ducks (They Whistle, But Are They Ducks?), I mentioned that they were more closely related to a Canada goose than they were to a mallard. Well, cotton pygmy geese belong to the Anatinae subfamily, meaning they are more closely related to a duck than they are a goose! Why the misnomer? Take one look at this bird, and you will probably forgive anyone for thinking that they are a very small goose; their head shape and small pointy bill certainly looks very “gooselike.” While these shy birds are always fun to work with, something has happened recently that has thrust them into the spotlight: babies!

The Owens Aviary at the San Diego Zoo has been home to cotton pygmy geese for many years. While most visitors are awed by the colorful and loud birds swarming about their heads, these birds lead a peaceful and unassuming life in the lowest pool of the aviary. This past May, one of the regular aviary keepers noticed that the female goose wasn’t in the pool with her mate. After searching a number of her favorite hiding places, he started checking the nest boxes that surround the lowest pool. Cotton pygmy geese prefer to make their nest in a cavity like those found in dead trees…or in nest boxes strategically placed by keepers. After a quick search, the keeper found the missing hen in one of those boxes. She was on a clutch of eggs!

We were excited at the idea of having a gaggle of goslings running around the lower half of the aviary, but there was a question about what to do with the male. Remember that these birds behave more like a duck, and the cotton pygmy goose male doesn’t help to raise his young. After some debate, we decided to leave the male in the exhibit and keep a close eye on his behavior.

On June 14, 2012, the eggs hatched! My first view of them was from the top walkway of the aviary looking down at the lowest pool. Initially I saw…nothing! Not a sign of Mom, Dad, or their seven newest additions. Undaunted, I tossed a handful of crickets into the water some 50 feet below. Dad poked his head out, looked up at me, and then made a beeline to the mass of crickets. Taking their cue from Dad, seven tiny goslings came rushing out from the logs, grasses, and rocks to chow down. Even wary Mom slowly swam out to nibble at a few bugs. I was overjoyed to see the family of nine geese doing so well.

We watched with surprise at how confident the goslings had become in just a few days. In previous years, we were used to goslings that were experts at staying invisible. One year, a team of keepers had to be called in just to get a full count of four goslings! Not this group. These guys only need a few pieces of millet to encourage them to come a-paddling. Keepers think there are a few reasons this group of goslings is so visible and active:

1) There are more goslings in this group than there have been in past years (aren’t you more comfortable in new situations if you’re with a large group of friends?).

2) The male is such a calm and confident influence on his young. It seems that even though the male doesn’t take care of the goslings directly, the female and her young may draw confidence from his calm behavior. Pretty cool!

The young have grown up so fast that it can be hard to tell the babies from their mom—she is slightly bigger. But if you happen to visit Owens Aviary, be sure to take a moment to look down and say hi to the baby goslings!

Mike Grue is a senior keeper at the San Diego Zoo.

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2

They Whistle, But Are They Ducks?

By
Mike Grue
– August 24, 2012Posted in: Animal Stories, Animals and Plants, Birds

A white-faced whistling duck poses for the camera.

White-faced whistling duck. Most. Outlandish. Duck. Ever!

Found at the San Diego Zoo in both of our flamingo exhibits, its wild range includes most of Sub-Saharan Africa and much of South America. Named for its high-pitched whistling call, this mottled-brown bird with a chestnut breast, black neck, and white face looks like a duck but doesn’t act like one!

White-faced whistling ducks have a number of odd traits for a duck:
1) Both the male and the female look identical.
2) The male actually helps to raise the young!
3) The male and female preen each other.

Think of a typical duck. You may have chosen a mallard, pintail, wood duck, or a harlequin. For all of those species, the male is flashy to attract the females’ attention, and the female is usually drab to allow her to hide when she is sitting on her nest. This trait is called sexual dimorphism: the male looks different from the female. White-faced whistling ducks are sexually monomorphic: the male looks identical to the female! Why are most ducks dimorphic while a few are monomorphic?

Ducks that are dimorphic are typically monogamous for just one breeding season. The next season, the male has to impress a different female. Hence, he has developed colors that possibly leave him more vulnerable to predation, but they give him a better chance to mate. On the other hand, whistling ducks are monogamous for many seasons. If the male stays with one mate his whole life, he may only have to impress that one female! This means bright, beautiful plumage may not be the best way for him to pass on his genes.

The male whistling duck tries a fairly extreme strategy…he helps to raise his young! A whistling duck dad may not help to incubate the eggs, but he is there for his ducklings’ first swimming lesson. He helps his mate teach their little ones how to eat, how to avoid predators, and helps protect them as they grow up.

Since the males don’t go around impressing the females with their flashy feathers, and the females don’t offer the males the “high-gain/low-cost” benefit of raising the offspring by herself, some activity must bond them to each other during the nonbreeding season. Mutual grooming is one of those activities. Mutual grooming doesn’t happen all that often in the bird world. This behavior is rare enough that it is given a special term: allopreening. Parrots frequently do this, but most other bird species don’t, especially ducks. I don’t want to anthropomorphize, but seeing a duck with her eyes closed, head tilted to the side so her mate can preen her cheeks leads me to the conclusion that she enjoys her mate’s company.

They don’t act like a typical duck, do they? Well, white-faced whistling ducks are a part of the Anatidae family, which includes geese, swans, and all ducks. However, unlike mallards, black ducks, and gadwalls, which belong to the Anatinae subfamily, the white-faced whistling ducks belong to the Anserinae subfamily, which includes swans and geese. This may seem like trivial evolutionary mumbo-jumbo, but it so thoroughly explains the odd behavior whistling ducks exhibit. Their evolutionary history suggests their behavior may not be all that odd. Think of a typical goose. Most likely it’s:

1) Sexually monomorphic.
2) The male helps raise the young.
3) The pair allopreens.

Sounds like the behavior of a whistling duck to me! We can learn a lot from these humble birds. We may expect them to act a certain way because of how they look, but we can know a lot more about them if we just take the time to learn their history.

Mike Grue is a senior keeper at the San Diego Zoo. Read his previous post, Pochards and Ruddy Ducks Break Rules.

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2

Pochards and Ruddy Ducks Break Rules

By
Mike Grue
– August 17, 2012Posted in: Animal Stories, Animals and Plants, Birds, Uncategorized

A handsome South American male rosy-billed pochard struts his stuff.

In my post Dabbling vs Diving Ducks, I shared that most freshwater ducks feed only on the surface, while ducks that spend a significant amount of time in the ocean dive for their food. Well, I must admit that this isn’t always true! Just like any good rule, there are some exceptions that are just wonderful to learn about. Let me introduce you to the graceful pochards and the misfit ruddy ducks!

Like their dabbling duck cousins, these two species are primarily found on freshwater lakes, streams, and marshes. Unlike the dabblers that share their ponds, pochards and ruddy ducks are able to throw off the shackles of their crowded buoyant prison and escape to the relatively untapped resources at the muddy bottom. Okay, that may be a goofy way to put it, but I just think that a diving duck that also lives in fresh water is a very cool thing! If I heard about a dabbling duck that lived in the open ocean, I’d be equally impressed.

There are five pochard species that are fairly common in North America. They all have their legs placed far back and apart for good underwater propulsion. They are also hesitant to come to land, as their legs aren’t well suited for walking. The male greater scaup and lesser scaup and the ring-necked duck have black heads and chests with white flanks and a black tail. The females have a subtle beauty all their own in their finely barred gray and brown feathers.

My favorite pochards, though, are the canvasback and the redhead. The canvasback has such an elegant, sloping forehead that it seems as if its bill and head have no definite boundary—one seamlessly blends into the other. While the canvasback female has a fairly normal nesting strategy, redheads are a different story. The redhead female may sometimes choose to lay her eggs in another duck’s nest! This behavior is known as parasitic brooding. The female redhead waits until another duck leaves her nest, and then she races in, lays an egg, and hopes that the owner of the nest takes care of the egg and then the duckling! Ducks aren’t very good at counting, so there is a good chance that a returning hen won’t realize there is one more egg in her nest. After running around the pond laying eggs all over the place, the redhead may then decide it’s time to make her own nest and lays 8 to 10 eggs to take care of by herself. It’s an odd behavior, but you can imagine that it is a good way to make sure that she passes her genes on even if her own nest fails.

The ruddy duck male has a glorious blue bill, among other attributes!

Ruddy ducks are just beyond this world. The breeding male’s bright-blue bill, white cheeks, black head, rich-burgundy body, and cocked tail make this bird unmistakable. His display is equally unforgettable: he bounces his bill on his chest like an avian King Kong while slowly swimming. The vibrations created by this action cause little bubbles to form across his bow-wave. How does he cap this charming display of machismo? He stretches his neck out, flicks his cocked tail, and utters the most adorable duck “quack.” If that doesn’t bring the ladies, I don’t know what will!

The San Diego Zoo is lucky enough to have a number of ruddy ducks in our collection. You can see a pair of them in the lagoon exhibit just north of the San Diego Zoo Sandwich Company on Front Street. If you find yourself by the polar bear exhibit, walk downhill just a bit and check out the marsh exhibit to see our two male ruddy’s and our pair of aristocratic canvasbacks!

Mike Grue is a senior keeper at the San Diego Zoo. Read his previous post, The Secret Life of Eiders, Part II.

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2

The Secret Life of Eiders: Part II

By
Mike Grue
– August 9, 2012Posted in: Animal Stories, Animals and Plants, Birds, Uncategorized

A male common eider

Be sure to read The Secret Life of Eiders: Part 1.

The breeding Steller’s eider male is floating beauty beyond description. I won’t even try. If you Google them, keep in mind that the beauty of the male’s iridescent blue latticework of feathers on his back and his bright orange breast is completely lost on something as simple and crude as an LCD monitor. If you are looking for an excuse to travel to the Steller’s native range in Alaska, may I suggest that seeing just one breeding male in the flesh would justify the trip! Anyway, before I came to San Diego, I worked with a team of biologists and organizations trying to reverse the Steller’s dwindling population. Though the scope of the program was large, I had the pleasure to simply act as their keeper.

One story may shed some light on a species I found to be so reserved and shy. In 2007, a Steller’s eider I worked with laid one fertile egg. It was big news for the program that this egg hatched, but it posed a problem for us keepers; it was her first duckling, and she didn’t know how to take care of it. If parent rearing wasn’t an option, we didn’t want to hand raise it, either. Ducks are known to imprint quite easily, and a lone duckling almost definitely imprints on a human caring for it.

Common eider ducklings (and one spectacled eider at bottom left) sit on their haul-out while waiting to have their tub cleaned.

Instead, we slowly introduced the duckling into a small exhibit with just one adult female and her mate. The female had been a mom before, so we were hoping she would know how to care for it. The problem? She hadn’t laid any eggs for years! She just might figure out that the chick wasn’t hers.

The first few introductions were confusing for all three ducks; the chick couldn’t figure out why its “mom” was running away. The female couldn’t figure out why there was a duckling chasing her. The male had no idea what was going on! On the third introduction, we lost track of the duckling. Frantically searching, we noticed that the female wouldn’t let the male come near her. She was also holding her wings in an odd way. On closer inspection, we saw a pair of tiny legs poking out of her downy chest. She had adopted the chick, one that was not possibly hers. She became one of the most attentive and protective mothers I’ve ever worked with. Difficult species to understand or not, there’s a lot to be said for this little duck.

A female king eider

Lastly, I have one more story I have to share that includes all four eider species. When I worked with the eider ducklings, I cleaned their nurseries each day. Each species seemed to have its own reaction when learning they were about to be picked up and moved to a clean tub. The king and Steller’s ducklings saw me and instantly jumped into the water and swam away in full “abandon-ship” mode. The common eiders’ saw me coming and sat there unmoving but chirping as I picked them up one by one. Then it was time to do the spectacled eiders’ tub. It was avian chaos. Imagine a group of children hearing the ice cream man come down their street on a hot summer day. These eiders couldn’t run, jump, or paddle toward me any faster. They just seemed to be so interested in anything new and exciting! I don’t know why these ducks have such different reactions to the same stimulus; possibly the Steller’s ducklings are more prone to being predated, while the spectacled ducklings hatch in safer regions where curiosity is more rewarded. Whatever the reason, it remains a happy riddle to be solved another time.

San Diego’s lovely climate is quite different from the weather these arctic birds are used to. As a result, we do not have any eiders at the San Diego Zoo or at the San Diego Zoo Safari Park. Remember I mentioned looking for an excuse to go to Alaska?

Mike Grue is a senior keeper at the San Diego Zoo.

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5

The Secret Life of Eiders: Part 1

By
Mike Grue
– July 28, 2012Posted in: Animals and Plants, Birds

Mike releases a king eider back into the wild after it was rehabilitated in Alaska.

Most people have never heard of an eider before (pronounced EYE-der). This is a shame, as eiders are the most colorful and playful ducks I’ve ever worked with. Eiders are large sea ducks that are found along the coastline of Alaska, northern Canada, and even down into New England. The common eider Somateria mollissima, king eider Somateria spectabilis, and spectacled eider Somateria fischeri are all closely related and of the same genus. The Steller’s eider Polysticta stelleri is more distantly related and has a genus all its own. The following anecdotes are a collection of stories from my work in Alaska before I came to the San Diego Zoo.

The wonderful king eider is truly a regal bird. The breeding male has a beautiful red bill, a bright orange-yellow cere (the top of the base of its bill), greenish cheeks, and a subtle purple/gray crown and nape (the back of its neck). This is coupled with a cream chest and a black back with little feathers that stick up and look like sails. Sounds amazing? Believe me, my description doesn’t do them justice. The female is, of course, quite drab by comparison. However, the female demonstrates her royalty by her devotion to her eggs. When the king eider female finishes laying her eggs, she stays on the nest for up to a week at a time without a break! While most duck moms take a daily “break” to eat, defecate, and stretch, the female king keeps her nest as secret as possible by remaining on her throne.

The common eider is bigger than life. Almost. Many years ago I had the privilege of working with this species, and what struck me the most about them was that they also believed that I was privileged to work with them!  Usually when a keeper enters a bird exhibit, one of two things happen: the bird flies or walks closer looking for a treat, or the bird flies or walks away seeking distance from potential danger. Well, the commons did neither; they stayed right where they were. Many times I had to carefully weave my way around the feathered “mines.” Oh, but I was surely in for a bite on my leg if I passed by without giving them a piece of krill, clam, or squid. Privileged, remember?

Next comes my favorite eider species, the spectacled eider. They are not massive like the commons. They aren’t flashy like the Steller’s. They aren’t regal like the kings. They are the clowns. There were days when I believed that they were sent to keep the humans entertained as we worked with the “real” eider species. Cleaning pools was always a chore with the Steller’s eiders. They were so skittish that we had to move slowly or else they could spook and fall into the empty pool. We had the opposite problem with the spectacled eiders. The specs would wait until our back was turned and would line up at the edge of the empty pool. They would then start their own version of American Gladiators and try to knock each other off the ledge. Many keepers turned just in time to see one duck get pinched in the rump by its buddy and sent over the edge (a short, harmless fall). As the rest of the flock fluttered about joyously at the misfortune of their friend, we would walk over, pick up the fallen bird, and place it in one of the full pools so the whole episode could start all over. It was impossible to be bored when there were specs around!

Check back soon for The Secret Life of Eiders: Part II, where we will learn about the gorgeous, but aloof, Steller’s eider.

Mike Grue is a senior keeper at the San Diego Zoo. Read his previous post, Dabbling vs Diving Ducks.

 

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0

Dabbling vs Diving Ducks

By
Mike Grue
– July 18, 2012Posted in: Animals and Plants, Birds

Ducklings at the San Diego Zoo

If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, looks like a duck, it must be a duck. –Old Proverb

There are many different duck species in the world. In North America, we have the ubiquitous mallards, black ducks, northern pintails, and gadwalls. Wood ducks, green-winged teals, blue-winged teals, cinnamon teals, and widgeon’s also live here…and those are just the dabbling ducks! I’ve not even mentioned the numerous species that are classified as stiff-tailed ducks, including shelducks, steamerducks, torrent ducks, perching ducks, pochards, and diving ducks.

For this first entry in a series of blog posts on ducks, why don’t we look at the differences between the two most numerous types of ducks: dabblers and diving ducks. When most people think of a duck, they think of a dabbler. If you’ve ever seen a duck tip its butt up in the air and submerge its head to look for food, you’ve seen a duck dabbling! Mallards are the quintessential dabbling duck. They have relatively long bills, sit high in the water, have large wings, and their legs are located mid-body. In contrast, diving ducks like the harlequin and long-tailed duck have shorter bills, sit low in the water, have relatively smaller wings, and their legs are toward the rear of their body.

Why have these two different groups of ducks evolved such different body plans? It all depends on how these birds find food! Everything about dabblers is built to make them successful at the water’s surface. Having a high buoyancy, they sit high in the water and don’t have to paddle as hard to move around. Legs that are about mid-body allow them to walk on firm land with relative ease. Their long bills have grooves in them that allow them to filter food out of the water, and their big wings allow them to take off at a moment’s notice. As a result of all the advantages dabblers have at the surface, any food that is more than a few feet below the waterline is forever beyond their reach.

Enter the diving ducks! No, these guys don’t walk on land as well as their dabbling cousins due to their “rear-positioned” legs, nor can they filter-feed as well with their smaller bills. Having short wings means they can’t get airborne unless they first run on the water, flapping like the dickens. You could say that at the surface these guys are, well, sitting ducks. But wait! Below the waves these birds really shine!

Picture the long-tailed duck hen as she starts her ocean dive by exhaling most of the air in her body before plunging her head into the water. She then points herself straight down and flaps her wings. She starts her descent as she moves her head, neck, and body up and down the way an Olympic swimmer does the butterfly stroke. She picks up speed as her feet kick in a rhythmic motion as she cruises toward the bottom of the ocean, 200 feet below. Her whole body is working together in one sinuous movement with the intent of finding food. The water resists her wings more than the air does, so her species has evolved smaller wings that can overcome the effects of buoyancy pulling her back toward the surface. At the bottom, her small bill probes rocks and mud for small crustaceans and invertebrates. She finds one, eats it, and starts her ascent. She has used a lot of energy getting her meal, so she simply relaxes and lets her buoyant body be carried upward.  A minute later she breaks the surface and takes a well-deserved breath of air. Since she may not visit fresh water for many months, her body is already hard at work extracting the water from her food. The excess salt will be filtered out by her salt glands and extruded out of her nasal passages. She fluffs her feathers, takes a deep breath, exhales, and plunges below the water once more.

Quite an amazing journey for just one piece of food! At the San Diego Zoo, we have two exhibits located next to each other that house many of the dabbling and diving ducks mentioned above. They are found downhill from the main polar bear viewing area. Be sure to check them out!

Mike Grue is a senior keeper at the San Diego Zoo. Read his previous post, Green Woodhoopoe: Quirky or Clever?

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5

Green Woodhoopoe: Quirky or Clever?

By
Mike Grue
– May 1, 2012Posted in: Animal Stories, Animals and Plants, Birds

Last week I wrote about two green woodhoopoes that had a curious behavior of feeding other birds (see post Green Woodhoopoe: Nature’s Room Service) Well, I have another story for you; this one involves another male green woodhoopoe feeding another bird that did not want to be fed!

A few weeks ago, my coworker Mark was tossing bugs to a few of the insect eaters in Scripps Aviary at the San Diego Zoo. He had the usual line of characters waiting for a cricket to be tossed their way: the long-tailed hornbill was patiently perched, the white-crowned shrikes made their boisterous appearance, and the racket-tailed roller was sulking on her branch. All was going well when suddenly the woodhoopoe male landed in the crowd of gathered birds. He already had a cricket in his mouth, so Mark could only guess that he might have been looking for his mate to feed. Instead of finding his mate, though, the woodhoopoe inadvertently landed next to the racket-tailed roller. Surprised, the roller turned, opened her mouth, and prepared to roundly scold the woodhoopoe. Only she never got that far—she was interrupted. Before she could berate him, the woodhoopoe had deftly shoved the cricket into her gaping mouth, flown away, and (probably) congratulated himself on a job well done!

Okay, enough of the anecdotes, what’s really going on here? Are green woodhoopoes just oddly obsessed with feeding other animals? The evidence to me suggests “yes!” But there may be a reason nature has given woodhoopoes this quirky characteristic. Woodhoopoes are cooperative breeders; this means that a group of 4 to 8 woodhoopoes (sometimes up to 14 individuals) helps to raise the offspring of just the dominant male and female of the group. Who are these helpers? Frequently, the helpers are the offspring of the breeding male and female. In the wild, the tree-cavity nests woodhoopoes need can be hard to come by. With a lack of nests available, many woodhoopoes help to raise their siblings instead of starting their own family. The helpers may not have the genetic success of breeding, but they do help to increase the success of their genes if they improve the survival rate of their brothers and sisters. As time passes, the helpers may inherit a breeding position from their parents or they may strike out on their own and try to find a mate and a nest.

You can probably guess by now why woodhoopoes have a tendency to feed other birds: these helpers bring a constant supply of food to their siblings! Feeding birds that are neither their offspring nor their mate is not just a quirky characteristic of the green woodhoopoe but also a means of their survival. How cool!

Mike Grue is a senior keeper at the San Diego Zoo.

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Green Woodhoopoe: Nature’s Room Service

By
Mike Grue
– April 24, 2012Posted in: Animal Stories, Animals and Plants, Birds, Uncategorized

“Stick with me, and you’ll never go hungry again.” ~Scar, The Lion King

There is a little bird with a loud, machine-gun-like call that has caught the attention of many visitors to the San Diego Zoo’s Scripps Aviary. With a dark, metallic blue body and a bright red bill, the quirky green woodhoopoe Phoeniculus purpureus is a colorful character in more than one way. Woodhoopoes are known for being loud, curious, and intelligent. What’s lesser known about this species, though, is even more fascinating!

Green woodhoopoes seem to have an almost comical need to feed other birds. You might say, “What’s so amazing about that? Most birds feed their mates and their young.” And right you are! But what I’m talking about goes way beyond just feeding a mate and offspring.

A few years ago, we had two male woodhoopoes in adjoining cages. They would talk with each other and sit near each other, separated by the wire of their enclosures. One day, Male A was to be moved into another aviary to get a mate and, we hoped, become a dad. To catch Male A, we tried luring him by putting his food into a catch box. Instead of having to go into the catch to get his own food, though, Male A simply called out and Male B passed his own food through the wire to his waiting friend! As you can imagine, it took some extra effort to catch Male A.

We finally caught Male A and moved him into the Scripps Aviary to await his new mate. While he was waiting, the curious woodhoopoe wasted no time getting to know his new bird neighbors. He apparently felt like our resident blue-breasted kingfisher needed some extra nourishment, because the woodhoopoe started bringing food to his new friend. In the wild, kingfishers sometimes feed their mate, but I can’t imagine what our kingfisher thought about this “friendly” bird trying to cram bugs into his face! Many times I’ve seen the woodhoopoe fly down to a pan, grab a cricket, and fly off in search of his buddy who, in Male A’s mind, must be starving! Male A eventually left the kingfisher alone…but only after he met the new female woodhoopoe, who appreciated all of his hard work. Male A became a devoted mate and subsequently a devoted father. He may not have “brought home the bacon,” but he definitely brought home the crickets.

If that were the end of the story, I might think that maybe Male A and Male B were just oddballs. But a year has gone by since Male A’s story, and we have a new woodhoopoe in Scripps Aviary, Male C, who has a tale all of his own. Stay tuned for the next installment where I’ll share Male C’s story and talk about the green woodhoopoe’s interesting breeding strategy, one that may shed some light on why these birds may have such interesting feeding behaviors.

Mike Grue is a senior keeper at the San Diego Zoo. Read his previous post, Flamingo Round-up: Inside Look.

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8

Flamingo Roundup: Inside Look

By
Mike Grue
– June 8, 2011Posted in: Animal Stories, Animals and Plants, Birds, Uncategorized

For my previous blog post, I wrote about why we have a Flamingo Roundup at the San Diego Zoo, how we corral them, and how a keeper moves the flamingo through the vaccination and check-up process. The first two years that I was a part of the roundup, I was a “handler” who took an individual flamingo through the assemblyline process. Those first experiences made the roundup one of my top five favorite days of the year (and that includes Thanksgiving and my birthday!). As much as I enjoyed my previous experiences, nothing prepared me for the opportunity I was given at this year’s Flamingo Roundup.

A few weeks before the roundup, I asked my supervisor if I would be able to be a “catcher” this year. I loved the “handler” experience because of the quality time I got to spend with a few flamingos while bringing them from station to station. But I also liked the idea of being one of the two “catchers” who stay in the holding pen and catch the flamingos to pass them off to the handlers. When the big day came, I was thrilled to hear I would be given the chance to get wing slapped, pinched, and have muddy water splashed into my face. I couldn’t have been more excited!

Imagine what the Zoo’s Flamingo Lagoon looked like just before 7:30 a.m. on April 6: the equipment is set up; the barricades are in place. Quietly hiding behind them are the vets, vet techs, and bird keepers. Five keepers slowly walk along the edge of the exhibit. The birds have known something was fishy for the last hour, but they now see the encroaching humans and perk up. The relatively quiet exhibit becomes a constant calling of flamingos, ducks, screamers, and ibis.

The five keepers form a loose line on the back wall of the exhibit and start walking the flock toward the barricades. At first, the flock is willing to walk away from the keepers because the barricades are distant and unassuming. As the birds get closer to the mouth of the holding pen, they change their minds and start to look for holes in the human line. Keepers shuffle side to side to make it appear that there is no way through. The other species that have become caught between the barricades and the line of keepers suddenly realize that only the flamingos are being corralled. In a mass blur of feathers, the ducks, geese, and ibis race between the keepers, who allow them to speed past. As the keepers get closer, the flamingos start to file into the holding pen created by the barricades that circle around a section of the pool. One of the keepers quickly closes the gate and locks the flock into the pen. Whew!

The excitement is just beginning, though. Clad in chest waders, coworker Athena and I walk into the holding pen to separate a small group of about five flamingos from the larger flock. Athena, who has done this a number of times, shows me how to cut out a small group and move them toward the even smaller catching pen. Once the small group is in the catching pen, we are to grab the flamingos and pass them off to the handlers.

I wish I could say that this part was easy and brush it off as “no big deal,” but I can’t. Corralling the skittish flamingos wasn’t too difficult, but catching them was tough! I found out that if you want to be a good “catcher,” you have to learn a few things:

1) You are going to get wing-slapped…in the face…and there’s nothing you can do about it.

2) You are going to get “flamingo pinched” (aka bit), and that’s also okay.

3) After you have control of the bird’s body, you then want to get control of its wings.

4) When you have the wings and body sorted out, you can then fold up its legs. If you have done this correctly, you can hold the bird as if it were a very fragile football. This leaves your other hand free to hold the bird’s serpentine-like neck, helpful if you want to receive fewer “pinches.”

After handing off a few dozen birds, I feel that I’m starting to get the hang of catching the body of the bird and controlling the wings, but I’m still having difficulty folding the bird’s long and delicate legs so that they are safely tucked to their belly. My supervisor, Amy, sees this and helps me out. She points out that flamingos have some strong muscles, which make it hard to force their legs into any position they are resisting. Amy shows me that if I hold the bird in a relaxed position, it calms down and allows me to tuck its legs without a fight. (The cool things I learn at work, huh?)

We continue catching group after group of flamingos; some are feisty while others are calm. Some stand at almost 6 feet (1.8 meters) tall while others are barely 4 feet (1.2 meters). Most of them are as healthy as can be, but some are old birds and have known ailments that make us extra careful of their left wing, right leg, etc. Every moment is a learning experience, and I love it.

About 45 minutes after we started, Amy, Athena, and I finish rounding up the last one. The three of us are soaked, sore, and coming down from our adrenaline high, but we feel a sense of accomplishment, too: in those exciting 60 minutes, 86 flamingos were weighed, vaccinated, checked out, and released back into their exhibit…until next year!

A special thanks to Janice, Athena, Amy, and Joop for their support and encouragement!

Mike Grue is a senior keeper (and now a “catcher”) at the San Diego Zoo.

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