Sightings: Steller's Jays (Cyanocitta stelleri)

THE ORIGIN

June 28, 2007

Several years ago, I noticed a banded Steller's Jay sneaking kibble from our cat's food dish. Having no experience with bird studies, I wondered how and why that particular bird had been captured, and by whom. At that time, (before peanuts) jays were surprise visitors appearing on glorious, sunny days for brief encounters, stealing bits of food, then calling loudly from high branches of redwood trees.

Subsequently, I learned from my friend, Jeff Jacobsen, about Pia and Dr. Jeff Black's study of the "social system and ecological relationships that drive the distribution and dynamics of the local jay population" (Wildlife Department, Humboldt State University--see link below). Pia placed a feeder/trap at eye level outside my family room window where I could see the birds coming and going each day. I looked forward to watching their dazzling-blue plumage, jaunty crests, and trickster manners.

Each of us watching feeders have stories to tell about the relationships, habits, and unique characteristics of individual birds that frequent our places. I hope this blog will allow us to share our observations and images, as well as provide an opportunity to share our delight in these curious, smart, and at times, raucous birds. c.arnold

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

06:57

Blue sky with clouds—trees drenched with water after a summer rain.

Birds Sighted:
1. mlbob (Resident Female)
2. Mrgo (Resident Male)
3. unbanded juvenile
4. Chopper

Notes:
After an absence of a week, my birds have fallen out of the peanut routine. Only Mrs. Go answers my morning greeting. She sits, perched in the tree, camouflaged, waiting quietly without calling or moving. She swoops in quickly, grabs a nut, not taking time to do her usual cross-over, two peanut pick-up. She appears cautious. Her legs are more swollen than ever—in particular the left. She favors it, lifting it as she hops in a lop-sided gait. She is wet and rumpled, a feather on her back sticking up; molting has begun.

Mr. Go arrives with a squa, squa call—only 11 minutes past the time I began watching. He looks particularly sleek, and confident, standing tall, in an alert posture, hop, hop, hopping off a flat surface into a sure, strong, flying take-off.

An unbanded juvenile sits, perched on a branch quietly. Its wings flutter rapidly, quietly, in a begging posture, as Mr. Go arrives. The bird has aged since I last saw it, the pink around its gape has filled in some, and the downy quality of its feathers has matured. It appears taller, leaner, the circumference of its neck narrowed, not so round and plump—more adolescent in its attitude. It perches, calls, squa, squa, squa and then tchoo choo choo TCHU choo choo, TCHU. It sounds immature, tentative, a little hoarse. It wipes its bill back and forth on a tree branch, and tap taps. I wonder if this is a way of marking territory, leaving behind a scent, a bill-cleaning ritual, or has some other significance I’m unaware of. The three birds are casual, taking their time to collect peanuts, as if they have no competition and all the time in the world to feed. An hour later, only the nuclear family has come to feed, lots of peanuts are left.

Chopper is the first to arrive outside the family group. He does his usual pick up/put down routine before selecting. Mr. Go cheep cheeps, calls chooka, chooka, chooka and begins feeding on sunflower seeds. A second juvenile arrives and begs, bill opening and closing, wings fluttering, standing next to Mr. Go on the bench.

By the end of the day, many of the usual visitors had returned. I predict the list of birds will be back to normal by tomorrow.