Stray Feathers From a Bird Man's DeskRand, Austin Loomer
Science
Stray Feathers From a Bird Man's Desk
Rand, Austin Loomer
Birds -- Behavior
The jays were regularly fed in this manner. Soon I noticed that only
one of the two birds pulled up the bucket, though the other also fed
from it. In effect one was depending on the work of the other. After
this had gone on for a month, I wondered if the second jay, which had
never done any of the work, would be able to pull up the bucket if left
alone. Certainly it had had lots of opportunity to learn by seeing
its cage mate go through the motion. So I left it alone in the cage.
This second jay, despite its chances to learn by observation, took
one day longer to learn how to pull up the bucket of food than had
the first jay. The jays certainly learned the trick quickly through a
trial-and-error process, but simply watching the process seemed to be
of little help in learning it.
CAN BIRDS COUNT?
[Illustration]
If birds can count, it's a rather rudimentary thing--perhaps no more
than impressions of the size of groups. The widely known example
showing that birds don't seem to distinguish between one and two
persons is the ruse used by bird photographers and students of birds
who are using blinds from which to watch the birds at close range.
The hide, or blind, is a little hut built perhaps a few feet from the
nest to be photographed. If the photographer enters the blind in the
sight of the parent birds, and conceals himself there, the birds who
saw him go in will be a long time in coming to the nest and in resuming
their normal activities. But if the photographer takes a companion
with him, both go into the blind and conceal themselves, and then
one of them goes away leaving the other concealed, the bird quickly
disregards the intrusion and goes about its activities as though no one
were left in the blind. This subterfuge has long been used and is very
successful. Apparently the bird is unable to distinguish between the
two people that arrive at the nest and the one only that leaves, and
behaves as if both had gone away.
In my duck-hunting days a duck hunter who used wooden decoys told me
he was sure that there was a certain number of decoys necessary before
they were effective.
The decoys were wooden blocks, carved and painted to resemble
life-sized ducks, weighted to float like them, and anchored in shallow
water in a flock within gunshot range of the blind in which the duck
shooter sat. The idea was that ducks flying by would see the flock on
the water, assume that here was a safe resting place, and fly in and
light, or attempt to light among them, giving the wild-fowl gunner an
opportunity to shoot the wild birds.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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