mammals – Page 5

Out to lunch

There are, of course, lots of birds around at Innis Point. That’s the whole reason we’re there, after all: to monitor the birds. What I wasn’t expecting there to be lots of was porcupines. Spring is their season, the time of year when they’re most likely to be encountered, although I’m not exactly sure why this is the case, since they’re active year round. Even still, prior to this year I’d only ever seen the odd one here or there, and most of them tended to be in the form of roadkill, sadly. I spotted one in our own woods while out with Raven last week (fortunately, she hadn’t seen it yet and I steered her the other way before she had a chance to; Dan came across one with her a couple days later and wasn’t so lucky with the timing, though he was still able to call her away before she actually made contact with it), but have just seen the one. Out at Innis we’ve seen them every day. One day there were as many as four of them spotted around the site. One of them was especially laid-back, allowing me to approach within a couple dozen feet while it calmly continued foraging. I guess it has a lot of confidence in its protection.

They’ve mostly been up in the big, gnarly oak trees. They clamber along the thick, sturdy limbs, reaching out to the little twigs to snip the tender green buds off. Their hands seem to be remarkably dexterous, reminding me a lot of the fingered feet of raccoons.

They reach out with their broad paws to snag the twigs and bend them back to where they can easily reach the buds. Check out the long, thick claws. They and the rough pads would be useful in gripping the tree as the animal clambers about. Also for hauling that huge bulk straight up the trunk. On my way back from the washroom one morning I heard a rustling in the underbrush and spotted a porc approaching in my direction. It hadn’t seen me, so I stopped and watched it for a few minutes. It wandered to a small line of young trees, approaching the base of each and giving each a good sniff as it decided whether it was worth climbing. It passed by two trees in favour of the third, which was of a different species. I found it fascinating that it could apparently tell the difference just by smelling the trunk.

Porcupines are rodents, and one of the obvious features that they share with members of the group is the evergrowing, sharp orange teeth; they’re not dissimilar from beaver teeth. Since part of their diet, especially in winter, consists of the inner bark of tree trunks (which requires chewing through the outer bark to get at), these teeth come in especially handy.

When the twigs were too long for simply bending the branch to bring the buds within reach, the porcupine put its teeth to good use. It would bend the twig down…

…and then chew through the twig to remove it from the tree. Then it would manipulate it with its hands and snip off the buds before finally dropping the denuded twig.

I’ve written a bit about porcupines before, discussing their ecology a bit more in-depth. You can find previous posts here, here and here.

Perks and perils of pooches

I have found having a dog to be a mixed blessing, when it comes to nature observation. On the one hand, if it weren’t for the dog, I can be fairly sure that I wouldn’t be outside as often, or at least not hiking away from the house. It’s not that I’m lazy or don’t want to go out, but simply that I tend to get caught up in things, and before I know it the afternoon has passed and it’s dinnertime and then it’s dark, and then it’s another day. At least, with the concern of ensuring that Raven gets at least a little exercise each day, I pay more attention to the clock and making sure I get out. Dan takes her some days, but not always. Perhaps it also makes it feel less like I’m skipping chores to go play in the sun: walking the dog is a necessary to-do item.

But then, on the other hand, having a dog along for hikes isn’t the most conducive way to appreciate nature. Birds are flushed well before you get close enough to spot them yourself; mammals are chased; those interesting plants that you wanted to investigate are romped through; as you’re peering into the creek to check out some movement you’d observed you get splashed with muddy water. She’s just being a dog, of course, and I really can’t fault her for having fun. I vaguely recall days when I used to have fun with wild abandon like that, some twenty-odd years ago. But occasionally, usually when thwarted from making some interesting nature observation, I feel like throwing my hands up in frustration and crying, “Raven – you’re such a dog!”

I had one of those moments yesterday. I’d taken her for her usual outing. Dan had already exercised her a bit earlier, throwing the ball with her out on the driveway (the only way we’ve found to effectively and completely drain her energy), but it’s not much for mental stimulation so I was just going to take her to the back of the property and back, a change of scenery. As I approached the rear forest, I thought perhaps I’d carry on and do a loop through the 100-acre woods; walking purposefully I could do the loop in about 45 minutes, which was about all I really wanted to spend on break from working, and she likes the forest better than the fields (so do I). But then, when I reached the railbed trail, I changed my mind again. Instead of turning right towards the woods, I turned left. I had no destination in mind, simply to follow it a ways. It goes much farther than I would be capable of going in a single outing.

I paused at this little creek that flows under a small bridge in the trail. It was lower than I had expected, the result of the reduced spring runoff and small amount of rain we’ve had so far this spring. Probably in most years it would be flood over the banks a little ways, into the long brown grass on either side. Below the bridge was a deeper spot, a little pool, and I watched for a bit a few fish, chub and minnows and the like, as they gently swam against the current, holding their position relative to the creek bottom. I stood there a while, contemplatively, enjoying the sunshine; Raven busied herself with sniffing things along the trail edges. We don’t, for the most part, put her on a leash in the winter since there’s not much in the way of wildlife for her to disturb, but it’s reaching the time where we’ll have to dig it out again. So she was wandering back and forth, smelling all the interesting smells.

I spotted this guy as a shape coming down the river at first. I thought it was perhaps a beaver or a muskrat, but as it drew closer I realized it was neither. Instead, the shape resolved itself into a River Otter. About the moment where I realized with a start that it was an otter, only my second-ever sighting of the species, Raven also noticed it. This was also Raven’s second-ever sighting of an otter; I’m not sure if she recalled the entertaining first encounter, or if it was simply an interesting creature that vaguely resembled other four-legged creatures she knew, but either way she was keen to go down and say hello.

I’m quite sure she had only friendly overtures on her mind, as her response to seeing the animal wasn’t the same as how she responds to seeing a chipmunk or squirrel or even rabbit. But I was likewise sure the otter wouldn’t see it that way. I didn’t want to disturb the otter, but Raven wasn’t on a leash. I called to her to come; it gave her pause, but she wasn’t completely dissuaded, and she stood hesitantly at the edge of the slope leading down to the water, one food in the air, tail wagging slightly. I had to call her three times, each time successively louder and firmer, before she finally, reluctantly, turned away from the curious creature and came to sit by me.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one to have finally heard me. The otter turned and made for the bank, crawling out of the water and through last year’s dried reeds. He (or she) scampered across the floodplain to the woods a short distance away, moving in long, lanky bounds. It was a little strange to see a single, solitary otter, as I tend to think of them as moving at least in pairs, if not family groups. It was also strange to see an otter bounding into the forest, which seemed about as weird a combination of animal and habitat as anything out here. They do actually use a variety of wet habitats, from larger lakes to ponds to deep swamps to flowing watercourses, but I’m pretty sure upland forest isn’t on the list.

Just the fact that there was an otter in our little creek thrilled me no end, since they’re disappeared from the rural area outside of Toronto where I grew up. They’re nearly gone from Ontario south of the Canadian Shield as land development, for both residential and agricultural purposes, has changed the landscapes and, usually, the watersheds beyond what they can use. Aside from habitat, they need a healthy stream that supports a good population of fish and/or crayfish and other tasty morsels for food. The fish population seemed to be doing quite well in our creek, judging by the dozen or so individuals I saw through the glare on the water. I do hope that it’s a permanent resident here and I might happen to see it again on walks.

I was disappointed as I watched it bound away; I had been hoping if I stayed still and quiet it might not realize I was there, and carry on down the creek below me, perhaps even diving for fish in the small pool below the bridge. I chastised myself for not having Raven on a leash, by which I could’ve simply pulled her to me. I was frustrated that she hadn’t come on the first, quieter command, when the otter was farther away and may have been less likely to hear. She did come, in the end, though, so I couldn’t be too upset with her. She can be such a dog, but her excuse is that she is a dog.

And anyway, who could stay angry at a face like that.
(Photo by Dan.)

Just wanted to say hi

I had actually started editing photos for another subject this evening, and was just casually scrolling back through my photo folder when I stumbled across these, which I’d taken on the weekend. I can’t believe I’d forgotten about them already! Well. Naturally, I had to switch post topics. The original photos will be for tomorrow, instead.

This guy was a bit of a surprise. I’d given the animals their dinner, and once they’re done eating they have a routine of liking to go out onto the screened-in porch to check out the happenings out there. Merlin seemed a little more eager than usual to go out, but I thought nothing of it. I opened the door for him, and he trotted out briskly, followed quickly by Oliver and Charlie, and then as I continued to hold the door open, Raven darted out, too. Just as I was wondering about Raven’s interest in the porch (she normally shows no interest – why go out there, when she could go out the front door and be able to roam the whole yard?) I heard a squeaking coming from the far corner. I stepped outside just in time to see a Red Squirrel dash up the screening to the thin ledge just above it that the decorative framing creates.

Goodness knows how he got in. Or why. More than likely he somehow discovered that we store our birdseed on the porch, and just recently we’d had the lid off the container for a stretch. The only way I can conceive of him getting in at it, though, is there’s a small gap in the screening at one end where it’s worked its way loose from the frame. He must have pushed his way through that. Unless there’s a hole in the floor I don’t know about.

The cats went straight into stalking mode, and I had a bit of a struggle getting them rounded up and back inside. Then I propped open the door leading outside, and went back in to finish preparing the humans’ dinner. Half an hour later he still hadn’t left, and I finally had to herd him outside. He jumped from the top of the door and landed hard on the cement walkway. He scampered off alright, so I hope he didn’t hurt himself.

It’s a little funny that we even have Red Squirrels around the house. During the day Raven is free to patrol outside, and generally speaking she does a good job keeping all the little varmints (her word, not mine) at bay. The Red Squirrels, though – they’re bold. I regularly see one scampering along the outside of the shed (actually the original farmhouse, so it’s a little one-and-a-half-storey building), and I have a suspicion it might have a nest inside; they will occasionally opportunistically nest in human structures. There are cracks in the chinking where it can slip through, and, for whatever reason, a fair bit of foam padding stored in the upper level. Would make a great place for a nest, especially considering how conveniently close it is to the birdfeeder. And no durn dog is gonna persuade it otherwise.

In a more natural setting Red Squirrels will build their nests out of grass in the branches of a spruce tree (which we also have plenty of around the house), but are not opposed to using cavities or even excavating out large knots of witch’s broom. A typical territory is only about 50 m (164 ft) wide, providing there is sufficient food available, and a Red Squirrel may have multiple nests within the territory that it will switch between when it’s feeling like a change of scenery.

Hopefully since he had a bit of a scare with the animals he doesn’t try to sneak inside again. Not that I mind having him in for a visit, or even having him help himself to the seed. But I can’t guarantee that one of these times when I unsuspectingly open the door to let the cats out he doesn’t get pounced on. Should see about fixing that screen…

Tay Meadows Tidbit – Unlucky rabbit’s foot

Or, rather, an unlucky hare’s foot. I found this out on a rock crown in the middle of a small barrens patch, apparently disassociated from whatever other remains might have been left of its original owner. It wasn’t all that much smaller than Raven’s foot, and there’s only one white animal around here with paws that large: the Snowshoe Hare. You can see the top of the foot is partly brown. This is actually the colour of the fur, it’s not stained from blood or mud. The hares change colour, from brown to white in September/October, and from white to brown in March/April. They would be partway through their colour change about now. They’re still white enough to stand out against the now-bare ground; I flushed one the other day, and while all I saw was a streak as it dashed off into the cedar brush, it was still white enough to be unmistakable. Their feet, especially the hind ones, may retain some white all year, though, so it could even have been from last summer. Given the ability of the relatively flesh-less feet to resist decay (a beneficial quality in something used as a good-luck charm), it’s hard to say if this is recent or if it’s been under the snow for a while.

Look at those nails in the top photo. Although hares don’t generally dig burrows, they will sometimes excavate scrapes in the ground in their favoured resting spot, and the nails may help in loosening up hard earth. They might also be used in the winter, digging through snow for food, though most of their winter diet consists of buds and twigs from coniferous trees. Of course, they would also be useful in protection or fighting. The underside (below) is thickly furred, which helps to make the feet more snowshoe-like in the winter. Probably keeps them nice and warm, too.

I suspect coyotes to be the hare’s doers-in, if only because we have a local pack that’s spent the winter howling about our neighbourhood. Fox, Great Horned Owl and Northern Goshawk are also regular predators of hares.

And no, I didn’t bring it home for good luck. That’s rabbit feet you’re thinking of.

A field guide to nestboxes

We have had a string of absolutely beautiful spring-like days so far this week. I could’ve spent much of the day out hiking if I didn’t have work I needed to get done indoors. However, yesterday I did take a bit of the afternoon to go out and clean out our nestboxes. Dan heard the first bluebird over the weekend, and it won’t be long before they start checking out nest sites.

I took our cordless drill because there are ten boxes in the fields out back of the house, and another two near the house (and that’s not including the dozen over at the 100-acre woods). Each has two screws holding the faceplate on. If I had to unscrew all 24 screws by hand, and then put them all back in again, I would have a very sore wrist by the end of the session! I just did the “local” boxes yesterday, and left the woods ones for perhaps tomorrow.

When we moved in last summer, much of the nesting season was already done. I noted two of the boxes being active last summer, but didn’t see anyone at the others. I’m not sure when the last time the boxes were cleaned out, because I wasn’t here to do it last winter. Most birds won’t next in a box that’s already got nesting material in it, so if you want to encourage as many active nests as possible, you really need to do it every year. It could be that they were cleaned out last March, and we just didn’t notice anyone because they’d already wrapped up, or perhaps they hadn’t been cleaned for a few winters and that’s why they weren’t used.

I enjoy cleaning boxes in part because it gets me outside on these lovely days, but also for the discovery of who was living in the boxes last year. Quite often it’s a surprise when you unscrew the faceplate and remove it, especially if you weren’t able to observe the occupants while they were using it.

Different species have different styles of nests, so you can usually guess who was living in a particular box based on its contents. Sometimes you can also figure out whether or not the babies fledged, too.

The above two boxes were both used by House Wrens. Wrens build very twiggy nests, using very coarse material for most of the stuffing. It looks like they were being a little over-zealous with their nest-building, but this is their usual style. They prefer for their nest to be near the level of the hole, so they’ll stuff the box with as many twigs as it takes to fill it to reach the hole. Then they arrange the twigs so the cup depression in them is tucked into one of the back corners, and will usually line that with hairs or fine grasses.

This one’s the nest of a Tree Swallow. Swallows have a habit of using large, pale feathers in their boxes (in fact, they like large, pale feathers so much that you can sometimes get them to pluck one from your fingers the way you might feed chickadees from your hand). You can always tell when it’s a swallow nest in the box as a result.

This was one of the two boxes where I saw it in use last summer. These guys fledged in early August, about a month after we moved in.

Here’s the nest after I pulled it out of the box. It’s amazing how well the nests (of most species) will stay together when removed, usually remaining quite square. It’s a little hard to see in this photo perhaps, but the front side of the nest is positively caked with poop. This is from the young birds defecating while they’re perched in the doorway (as above) trying to decide whether they should fly. It may take them a couple of days to work up the courage. Prior to that the parents will remove the fecal sacs from the nest in order to keep it clean. You can usually tell if a nest fledged young because often there will be two or three droppings left behind in the nest, the last ones from the babies before they fledged, which the parents didn’t need to worry about removing.

Here’s another Tree Swallow nest. Just the one feather in this one, but a very similar construction.

You can see the caked droppings on the right side of the nest here, the side that was under the entrance/exit hole.

This was the nest of an Eastern Bluebird. This was the other of the two boxes where we actually saw the box in use last summer:

You can tell the nest hasn’t changed at all, but what’s with all the fluffy white stuff in the winter box? It was plant down, although I wasn’t sure what type. Possibly milkweed, given the abundance of the stuff in our meadows. The seeds of whatever the fluff had belonged to were now gone. To where? This box is near to a couple of small saplings, within jumping distance for a squirrel. The hole’s a bit on the small side for a Red Squirrel, however. I’ve also read that mice will use nestboxes over the winter, but this one was on a pole with a baffle, and I don’t think mice will climb trees and jump. So I’m a bit puzzled about the fluffy down.

I was delighted when I opened this box and discovered this nest. It belonged to a Black-capped Chickadee. I don’t know that I’ve seen inside a chickadee nest before. They cover the bottom of the cavity with mosses, and then the nest itself is lined with soft rabbit or other animal hair.

When I say “nest”, however, I use the term loosely. They don’t build a cup or significant depression like most species do, instead just making a nice soft base that they place the eggs on. I was so delighted by this find that I left the moss there, thinking maybe they’d reuse it, but in coming home and reading a bit more it looks like chickadees won’t reuse their mossy nests, so I’ll need to clean it out when I head out to do the boxes at the 100-acre woods. There was a male singing in the cedars you can see in the background of the previous photo, who may be intending to use the box again this year. Chickadees prefer natural cavities, but won’t turn their beaks up at a nestbox when natural cavities and dead trees are scarce, as they seem to be here.

Finally, I discovered this last box tucked against the wall of one of the outbuildings. I’m not sure when or why it was removed from the fields or wherever it had been, but somebody seems to have found it and liked it. This one I was fairly sure belonged to a squirrel, so I left it there.

The material is strips of cedar bark…

…torn from this log which was leaning against the wall right beside the nestbox. I did some Googling to just confirm that this was indeed a squirrel nest, and in doing so discovered this page at the Hilton Pond Center, a nature centre in the Piedmont of South Carolina. In it he shows a photo of a nestbox filled with cedar bark, just like mine – and notes that this is the preferred nest medium for flying squirrels! I think we have both species around here, although this is near the absolute northern limit for Southern Flying Squirrels, so it’s more likely to be a Northern. This looks like it was or is going to be a natal nest – one used for raising young – as opposed to a roosting nest, which are typically smaller. Now I’m wondering about all that fluff in the bluebird box – could it be a roosting nest? It’s kind of out in the open for a flying squirrel, though.

To say that I was stoked to find this is a bit of an understatement. Although flying squirrels aren’t really uncommon, they’re so rarely seen because they’re nocturnal, so they hold a bit of mystery for me. I’ve only ever seen one, at the lake house last year, which jumped on to our deck railing one evening. I got about a 1.5-second-long look at it in the light cast through the window before it was gone again. How neat would it be to have an active nest here? Even an inactive nest is a pretty cool find, though.