As I was working in my study this morning, Dan came in from his walk with Raven and called up to me that we had a visitor. I went downstairs to discover a little orange and white cat prowling around the kitchen. Raven had found him in one of the fields at the back end of our property. Dan picked him up and brought him back.
The poor thing is nothing but skin and bones and a ravenous appetite. He attacks the kibble like he’s afraid it’s going to jump out of the bowl and get away. It’s hard to guess how long he’s been out there fending for himself, but he wasn’t doing so well at it. Perhaps he’d been surviving on grasshoppers and dragonflies, which are all mostly gone now. I might have given him another week out there on his own, at most. If starvation didn’t do him in, then coyotes or foxes or hawks or fishers surely would have.
He’s extremely friendly, currently sitting on my lap as I type this. He doesn’t seem afraid of Raven, rubbing up against her and walking underneath her belly like they grew up together. It’s hard to say how long he’s been out on his own, or whether he’d had an owner at some point, although generally cats that have been wild for a long time become very scared of humans, and it takes a long while to earn their trust back.
We took him to the vet this afternoon, primarily because he had a wheeze and a runny nose and we were concerned about letting him be around our other animals, but also just to get him checked out. He weighed in at just 3.8 lb (1.7 kg), and has to be the tiniest cat I’ve ever met. He makes our other cats look huge. From his size, I figured he was a three to four month old kitten. We asked the vet how old he thought the little guy was, and he guessed about a year, based on the fact that he has all of his adult teeth, and some of the back molars are starting to get some tartar buildup.
The poor little guy, such hardship in only his first year of life! But things are looking up for him now. We’re not sure if we’ll keep him or find a good home for him, but either way his days spent out in the cold scrounging for food are over.
I can’t believe how much he reminds me of Jackie, another young cat who came to my family by similar means when I was in my early teens.
I’m revisiting some photos I took a while ago with the intention of using in their own posts (so I didn’t include them in Miscellanies), but then for this reason or that didn’t get around to posting them. This one is of a rock I found at the back of our property. It was about a foot (30 cm) across, but only a couple of inches (5 cm) thick. Its geometric shape caught my eye, but what was really of interest were the impressions in the ground beside it. There were two. The first and most noticeable is the brown dirt depression to the right. The rock appears to have sat in this spot for years, enough to kill the vegetation and sink into the soil a bit. The second is below the rock, and is visible as dead, flattened vegetation where the rock sat for a little while this summer, long enough to kill the grass, but late enough in the summer to allow the grass to grow out first; or possibly it was there last summer, and the grass survived the winter under the rock.
These are signs of bear, and about the closest I’ve been to bear around my homes here in eastern Ontario. I have often seen rocks at our research sites that were dislodged or flipped over, the work of a black bear that had roamed through in search of food. The only time Dan and I have spotted individuals of the species, though, was on our way to one of our research sites back in the summer; a couple of small cubs crossed the road near the dump, and all I recall seeing was the butt-end of the second as it disappeared into the brush. This is just fine with me. As much as I like bears, and I like the idea of bears being present in the landscape, I would rather not encounter one in person. They’re generally pretty shy creatures that can detect you long before you’re aware of them, and usually leave the area without you ever knowing they were there.
Bears are omnivores, feeding on just about whatever they’re able to find. One of their foraging strategies is to flip rocks to look for goodies. They’ll eat much of what they find hiding under the rock, with or without a spine. When I flipped this rock up, it had been there long enough for a few things to move in, including a colony of yellow-orange citronella ants, a few earthworms, and a couple of small millipedes. I replaced it where I had found it, so that there would be something there if the bear came looking again. Bears are incredibly strong, capable of flipping rocks with apparent ease that a couple of men working together would have difficulty moving. It wouldn’t have had any trouble at all with this one.
A couple of weeks ago, as Dan stepped outside one evening to bring Raven in from her tie-out (which we’ve started having to put her on, as she disappears off into the darkness at night and ignores our calls otherwise), he discovered this creature laying on the step. It was tiny – that’s my thumb included in the photo, partially for scale, and partially to prop the poor thing up while I took a couple of photos. It was dead, of course; we presume Raven caught it and killed it, but if she had it would be the first thing she’s killed, to our knowledge. Even the chipmunk she managed to catch some time ago she just pinned under her paws, apparently confused about what to do next. Perhaps it was already dead and she just picked it up and brought it back, liking the way it smelled. Perhaps she caught it, but in doing so she literally scared it to death – small animals can sometimes become so stressed out when captured that the stress itself will kill them (I’ve had it happen once or twice over the years of bird banding and it’s distressing; fortunately, in the some 20,000+ birds I’ve handled, a couple of times is an exceptionally rare occurrence, and virtually all are just fine).
Wherever it came from, and however it died, the poor creature was now on our doorstep. Dan brought it in and presented it to me because he knew I’d be interested in it for the blog (he always gives me the sweetest, most thoughtful gifts). Taking a closer look at it, I identified it as a shrew, probably a Masked Shrew, Sorex cinereus, the most common shrew of four possibilities in our area, as well as through the rest of its range across Canada and the northern US (hence its other common name, Common Shrew). Contrary to its name, it doesn’t have a well-defined mask; the websites I visited didn’t give a reason for this label.
Shrew, mouse or vole, how can you tell them apart? Shrews belong to the taxonomic order Insectivora, while mice and voles are in the order Rodentia. Members of Rodentia, the rodents, have long, sharp upper and lower incisors that grow their entire life. Shrews, however, do not; they are born with a single set of teeth (they actually replace their baby teeth before they’re even born) which wear down over the course of their life. Shrews also have five toes on their feet, while rodents only have four.
But probably as you’re watching something scamper across your yard you’re not able to get a really good look at its incisors or its toes. That’s okay. At least here in North America, you can tell the shrews from the mice by their elongated nose and somewhat big-headed appearance. Voles are larger, chunky rodents, looking a bit like a cross between a mouse and a guinea pig. The ears are often nearly hidden in a shrew’s fur. Some shrews will have shortened tails, but the Masked has a longer tail more like that of a mouse.
I spent a great deal of time flipping back and forth on the ID of this critter while I was taking the photos. There didn’t seem to be a defining marking in the coloration that would identify it as either a Masked or Pygmy. The Masked Shrew didn’t really show a mask, and the Pygmy Shrew wasn’t significantly smaller than the Masked, on average. I gather the Masked is sometimes more brownish and the Pygmy more grayish, but it’s a subtle distinction, and hard to decide on when you’ve only got the one shrew. Finally, I found a site that indicated you could tell them apart by their teeth – the side teeth immediately behind the incisors, called the unicuspids (similar to our canines), are all the same size in Masked, but the back ones are smaller than the front ones in Pigmy. I’d say these look to be about the same size.
Shrews in the genus Sorex (as well as others in the subfamily Soricinae) have red-pigmented teeth. Members of the subfamily are actually known as “red-toothed shrews”. The colour comes from iron deposited in the enamel of the tooth, which serves as a strengthening tool, hardening the enamel against the constant wear of day-to-day life, which is why it’s mostly found concentrated at the tips, where wear is greatest. I don’t know why only some shrews have it and others don’t, though.
The shrew’s face is covered in long, bristly whiskers. In most animals, long whiskers are associated with sensory functions, either of the surrounding habitat, or playing a role in food acquisition in insectivores. Think of birds, for instance, where species that hunt and chase insect prey, such as flycatchers, have lots of bristly whiskers, while those that eat seeds or tend to just pluck relatively stationary insects from foliage, such as most warblers, do not. The Masked Shrew eats primarily invertebrates such as insects, worms and snails, but is opportunistic and will take small vertebrates such as salamanders if given a chance, or seeds if living food is hard to find. Shrews have small eyes compared to mice, which feed mostly on seeds and berries and therefore require good eyesight to locate their food. Shrews rely on their sense of smell and touch. Their long, prehensile nose probably also plays a role in this.
Shrews are active year-round, and their trails can often be seen in shallow snow in the winter, where they plow a channel-like path compared to the leaping footprints of a mouse. Usually their trails dive down into the openings of melted snow around the base of trees and rocks, rather than tunnel up (or down) through the snow. Ontario Wanderer posted some good examples early last year (one of the front-page results that came up when I googled “masked shrew Ontario”).
A couple of days ago I took Raven over to the 100-acre woods for a walk. I didn’t want to be out too long, and I debated between doing the forest loop, or walking back into the fields and returning via the back end of our 30 acres (an old railway bed, now an ATV trail, runs along the back of the properties providing a convenient off-road connection). I finally decided on the latter, mostly because I hadn’t been back there in a while, more than because I thought I’d see anything interesting. And for most of the walk, this held true; I didn’t see much aside from a few small flocks of birds, and since I hadn’t brought my telephoto lens, by the time we were reaching the railbed I still hadn’t taken any photos.
Right at the edge of the property there there’s a clearing with some exposed rock and some interesting boulders. I thought I’d maybe go check them out, just on a whim. I crested the crown of the rock, and on the other side spotted something white. Suspecting a skull, I went down to investigate. I was correct, it was a skull, but the skull was accompanied by nearly a complete skeleton. How cool!
I took a few photos, but mostly left it undisturbed. I briefly toyed with bringing it all back and trying to assemble it like a jigsaw puzzle, but I had nothing to carry it in, and what would I do with an assembled skeleton, anyway? I’m not the sort to display something like that in my living room, or even in my study. It was quite small, the whole pile probably only about 15 inches (38 cm) across, and I just figured it was something common, like a raccoon. The skeleton’s proximity to the highway, just a couple hundred meters/yards away, made me suspect that the animal had been hit but not killed on the road, and staggered here where it collapsed and eventually died. Probably it was picked over by scavengers and decomposed by carrion beetles and other invertebrates, allowing the bones to remain mostly together. The only thing I didn’t see there was the lower jawbone. Somebody may have picked it up and taken it away.
This evening, as I was starting this post, I decided to key it out just to be sure about the identity. I’ve kept most of my textbooks and lab manuals from my university courses (at least, those courses that I found interesting), including A Manual of Mammalogy that has more information than you’d ever think you’d need to know about how to identify mammal families by their skulls, as well as other useful lab and field techniques. It would have helped me considerably to have the lower jaw in the photo, since part of keying out skulls is using their dentition formula (number of upper/lower incisors, canines, premolars and molars, which differ in pattern/formula by family), but I made do. I reached the end of the key with the result that the skull didn’t belong to a raccoon at all, or even an opossum, my other suspect, but in fact was a member of the Canidae – the dog family.
Well, that surprised me a bit. It would have to either be a Red Fox (Vulpes vulpes) or a domestic dog, as it’s much too small to be a coyote (or a wolf, which I wouldn’t expect around here anyway). This key to North Dakotan mammals suggests Red Fox skulls to be 12.5 to 15.5 cm (5-6 inches) in length; the skull would fit at the small end of that range. Though most dogs have a high, sloping forehead, some long-nosed breeds might not show this as distinctly. I’m not sure if there’s a feature visible on all domestic dog skulls that can be used to tell them apart from wild canids, but I suspect there probably isn’t, so it’s likely impossible to rule out a small dog. However, since dogs are generally (though not always) kept in their owners’ yards, a fox is probably more likely to become roadkill.
I may go back and collect the skeleton after all. I’m still not sure what I’d do with it, but a Red Fox is a pretty cool find, not something you stumble across every day. It would also allow me to confirm (or correct) this ID, since I keyed it out just using the photos I’d taken, which obscured some features. It’s interesting to examine skeletons; since they’re on the insides of our bodies, they’re not something you get to see often.
For instance, I hadn’t noticed that the vertebrae have two lateral holes to the central main one (this may, perhaps, have been something learned in mammalogy class but since forgotten). The latter is, of course, where the main spinal cord runs, but the smaller holes allow passage of a main artery and vein and some smaller nerve bundles. The projections of bone to either side provide points of attachment for various muscles.
In the second photo, of the skull, you can see a long, thin arch running along the cheek. This is basically the fox’s cheekbone. In the front, it forms, in part, a portion of the eye socket (the remainder would have been cartilage that would have decomposed). In the back half, the lower jaw bone slots up inside, and the giant masseter muscle, which clamps the jaw shut, runs through the inside of the arch and attaches to a spot higher up on the skull. It’s this long length of the jaw muscle that gives it so much power.
Your own muscles do something similar. Put your fingers on your cheeks and clench your jaw a couple of times. You can feel the muscles contracting. Now move your fingers to your cheekbones. Nothing, right? Finally, put your fingers on your temple and clench your jaw again. There’s the muscle again. Neat, huh?
I missed Miscellany last week; I didn’t have very many photos, and the ones I had were part of series that I wanted to post more than one image from. With the passing of summer, nature is slowing down outside. There aren’t as many bugs about, the wildflowers are largely finished. Most of our summer birds have headed south, leaving just the winter feeder visitors behind. My walks through the woods are getting quieter, and I have to make more effort to notice interesting things; they aren’t as abundant or obvious as they were.
I love playing with milkweed seeds. I have a hard time passing by open pods when I’m out walking. I like the way the seeds all grow in such careful organization, smoothly layered upon each other like scales. I’ll often pull out puffs and cast them to the wind, just for the joy of it. Last week I pulled out a full, un-fluffed bunch of seeds from a recently-opened pod, such as the one shown here. I peeled off the seeds, slowly, enjoying the silkiness of the down. When I got to the end, I was left holding a fascinating structure. It was papery, with paper-thin divisions running along its length. the down of the seeds was tucked neatly into these creases, securing it until the wind became strong enough to tease it from the pod (or a person pulls them out and tosses them into the air). Presumably this is an adaptation to make sure that there is sufficient wind to carry the seed away from the mother plant when the seed falls off, and not just fall straight down.
If the structure has a formal name (undoubtedly it does), I don’t know what it is, as I wasn’t able to turn up the answer with a web search. I did, however, find out that they make excellent fire-starting material because they’re so papery. Of course, so do dried leaves, which also happen to be abundant at the same time of year…
I found this pair hanging out on a milkweed pod last week. The upper one I’ve already mentioned once this fall; it’s a Small Milkweed Bug, a species that feeds on the seeds of milkweed plants. The smaller one below is a nymph of the same species. In most true bugs (that is, the group of insects that have a piercing tube-like structure for mouthparts and wings that are solid for only half their lenth and membranous the rest, leading to the group’s name Hemiptera – hemi/half, pteron/winged) the nymphs resemble wingless adults in shape but are usually differently, and often more brightly, patterned than the adults. This is a later instar of the nymph; younger nymphs are nearly all red-orange.
Speaking of bugs, I have been inundated with Giant Water Bugs this evening. After a spell of cold, near- or below-freezing nights, we’ve had two in a row that have been fairly warm, up near or slightly above 10 C (50 F). Last night I didn’t realize it was so warm until well after midnight, but tonight I was prepared, and set out my moth trap for a try at late-season moths. I plugged it in just before dusk, and then forgot about it. After dinner, I put Raven on her tie-out when she asked to be let out, and went back into the house. A few minutes later she started barking in alarm. I stepped outside and could hear something rustling in the leaves at the front of the house – clearly what had gotten Raven worked up. I grabbed my shoes and went around to investigate, and it was immediately obvious what she was hearing. There were dozens of these guys, on the porch, in the garden, in the lawn, and yes, rustling around in the thick bed of leaves under the trees in front of the house. Where the heck are they all coming from? I did finally walk through the forest that borders our meadows on the west, where I’d also heard spring peepers calling a few weeks ago, but couldn’t see anything near the edge that was very wet, or even perhaps a springtime vernal pool. I’m hoping not too many of these things actually go into the trap.
Another sighting of puzzling origin is this guy. I’d stepped outside this afternoon to dump the compost while I could see what I was doing (I’d created a large pile last night when I prepared and froze a batch of carrots from our garden), and right beside the porch steps was this little snake. Only 6 or 7 inches (15-17 cm) long, it was in the rocky, mostly empty soil bed beside the walkway. I quickly put down the compost and hurried back inside for my camera. At the time I just assumed it was a young milk snake. I took a few photos, then picked him up and move him away from the house. Sitting down to blog this evening, I had another look at him. Eastern Milk Snakes usually have a pale Y-shaped mark at the back of their head and this one didn’t have that. I wasn’t sure if that was because it was a juvenile, or because it wasn’t a milk snake. Some poking around suggests the answer is the latter. I believe this is actually a young Northern Water Snake, Nerodia sipedon. Although adults tend to remain closely associated with water, juveniles seem to often stray across land, perhaps as they disperse looking for new water to colonize. The solid bands in the front half, turning into a checkered pattern in the back half of the body, seem to be characteristic of the species.
I found this caterpillar clinging to the inside of the porch screen last week. I’m not quite sure how it got in, but it was a very chilly day, and it wasn’t up to going anywhere further. I took a few photos, and then put it outside where it could hopefully find a more appropriate place to hole up. I believe it’s the caterpillar of a Hitched Arches, Melanchra adjuncta, a species of moth. I’d encountered the adults at the lake house last August (2008), and then again in May (this year). I caught one again this summer, after moving to this house. The species is found across much of North America, and flies for much of the year, May through September. Presumably they overwinter as caterpillars or pupae, thus delaying their appearance in spring.
We’ve had a couple of hard frosts now, and even the frost-hardy plants have wilted away. The grapevines are nearly bare of leaves, exposing the clusters of dark blue Concord grapes, and the mass of woody stems twining and crawling and sprawling across the side of the shed. As I was standing looking at the vines, thinking I should collect up some of the remaining grapes and freeze them to make pie with this winter, I noticed a clump of twigs tucked into the back of the tangles. Looking closer, it turned out to be a nest. It was quite large, appropriate for something robin-sized. It had probably finished up and fledged its young before Dan and I moved in in July, assuming it was even from this year. Determining the identity of the builders of nests can be difficult, with the exception of a few distinctive species (such as robins, or swallows). I’m not sure what species this one belonged to, although if I had to hazard a guess I might say Brown Thrasher, which build chunky, twiggy nests, usually on the ground but also sometimes tucked into thick shrubs or vines.
Nearly all of our leaves have fallen now, and they form a thick bed across the lawn under the trees. I was tempted to rake them up today, if only because it was such a nice warm afternoon and it would be a reason to be outside. I didn’t, however, instead tossing the ball with Raven and Dan. Here Dan’s commanding Raven to “Drop it!”, which she does, though generally only after a good bit of bounding about in circles playing keep-away. She tosses up sprays of leaves like she’s running through water. A few more weeks and we’ll be feeling less inclined to stand still and toss a ball around outside.
Giant otters at Cocha Salvador, Manu, Peru, by Sarah_and_Iain on Flickr
Day 5 on the Kolibri Expeditions’ Manu bloggers’ tour takes us to Cocha Blanco (roughly translated to “White Lake”), an old oxbow lake that is now home to waterlilies, sunken logs, fish – and a family of Giant Otters. The largest species of otter, and by extension the largest species of mustelid (weasel family), it lives up to its name with males reaching 5-6 feet (1.5-1.8 m) in length. In some areas, and historically, it was also known by the name of “River Wolf”, for its huge size and carnivorous habits. Like other otters, they’re highly social, living in family groups and vocalizing frequently. Unfortunately, it is now endangered, primarily to habitat loss, with nearly 80% of its original South American range now unsuitable. Because their occurrence tends to be so patchy, population estimates are hard to make, but are thought to be less than 5000 individuals. Suriname and the Guianas are the otter’s stronghold, with a scattering across the rest of northern South America. The promotion of responsible ecotourism can lead to habitat conservation efforts that will help this species and others. Back in January Julie Zickefoose did a great post (oneofafew) about Giant Otters she saw in Guyana, which made me keen to experience these creatures.
I’m going to Peru with Kolibri Expeditions as part of their blogger promotional series. Want to come? I’d love to have you along! My departure leaves November 13, 2010 and returns the 21st, well before the US Thanksgiving. You can get more information about the trip, including itinerary and, of course, cost, at this page. Don’t forget that if you’re also a blogger you get $100 off. In addition to having a great time, meeting some great bloggers, and seeing some fabulous birds, you’ll also be supporting the local communities as they work toward developing a sustainable ecotourism industry for their area. It’s a win-win!
seabrookeleckie.com 