Last summer I was hiking in the mountain parks west of Boulder when I heard a cacophony of crows. I’ve learned enough about animal behavior to know there was a reason they were raising a ruckus. Often times, it’s because they’re taunting a hawk or owl, trying to chase it from their territory. But this time the reason was on the ground: a bobcat that seemed to be polishing off a meal.
If I hadn’t paid attention to the birds, I never would have seen the bobcat, even though it was just a few feet off the trail. But its mottled coat blended in with the ground, and it was holding fairly still.
Having a wildlife encounter means being alert, but also realizing that there’s a reason for almost everything an animal does. I’ve been reading “Winter World: The Ingenuity of Animal Survival” by Bernd Heinrich, a naturalist/scientist who is naturally curious about everything in the natural world. On his walks through the woods near his Maine home, he reads the landscape and notices things that most people wouldn’t.
In one spot in the woods, the tops of the young balsam firs were missing and on the ground were tracks of red squirrels. From this he deduced that the squirrels, which normally are nourished in winter by sugar maple sap, were feasting on the buds of the fir because there were no sugar maples around.
I sometimes see what looks like the tips of fir or pine trees scattered on the ground and wondered about them. Now I know that an animal, most likely our chickarees (gray squirrels, above) are eating the buds and discarding the twigs, letting them fall to the snow.
From reading Heinrich, I’ve come to see that little is random in nature and that animals act in deliberate ways, usually based on survival: finding food, avoiding predators, staying warm in winter.
I might notice that a flock of chickadees is hanging out with some juncos and assume they get along, maybe enjoy each others’ company. But it’s not camaraderie but survival that’s at stake. Heinrich explains that different species of birds who flock together provide more eyes to see predators—the most alert can warn the others—but togetherness also provides more eyes to see berries or nuts. Even though that means the birds have to share the berries or nuts, the rewards are greater than going it alone.
I might think that a coyote (left, almost camouflouged in the grasses outside my cabin) pouncing on the snow is having fun jumping around. But Heinrich says that foxes and coyotes can hear their prey (mice, voles, etc.) under the snow and are trying to break through.
There’s something appealing about animals’ lives where every action matters, so no effort is wasted. Animals are constantly calculating if an action is worth the effort: Is it worth expending energy to try to catch its prey or climb the tree to get more seeds?
What if we lived our lives more like animals?—to be aware of everything we do, our senses constantly alert to everything around us, to decide constantly whether our actions are life sustaining or unnecessary and then act accordingly. In a culture where our daily lives are consumed often by trivial decisions, it might be a good thing to be a bit more hungry and ferocious about life.
Kathy -- very good comments about observing life around us. A book that I feel might be similar to Winter World is, "SEEING NATURE; Deliberate encounters with the visible world." by Paul Krafel. Thanks for the great post -- barbara
Posted by: `barbara | January 30, 2011 at 06:37 PM
Really liked this one also! We need to be more hungry as that is a great motivator. Seems the society has an affect on us to dull us out to what's really important. Ah, to be more like the natives and live from day to day as the first nation people did on the land and tuned in to all of life.
Posted by: sally | January 30, 2011 at 09:57 PM
Thanks, Barbara, for the tip about Paul Krafel's book. Sounds like it's just up my alley.
And Sally, I agree. Life would have been difficult, and survival precarious, but there would have been an intensity to life that we don't have.
Posted by: Kathy Kaiser | February 01, 2011 at 02:14 PM
I love your photo of the squirrel! Enjoyed reading your observations, Kathy.
Salem
Posted by: Salem Martin | February 01, 2011 at 08:21 PM
Wonderful photo of the coyote. I would love to know to what extent the animals are "deciding" on actions in the sense of weighing pros and cons as opposed to acting instinctively. I once fed my dog Chance a less delectable dish than I put before my dog Tilly (hers had glucosamine in a liver paste that he didn't need). He sniffed his dish, then sniffed hers, sniffed his, then hers. Then he backed up and gave me the funniest look as if to say "what's the deal, mom?" He had clearly made the decision not to dive into his and to investigate the situation, then, in his own way, to comment on it. I quickly gave him some liver paste too.
Posted by: Rachel | February 04, 2011 at 04:33 PM
Rachel, I love your story about your dog. I think a lot of animals, including coyotes and dogs, do act with intelligence, not just instinct.
Posted by: Kathy Kaiser | February 15, 2011 at 08:08 PM
Just a quick note to say I am enjoying your blog -- I found you on the Nature Blog Netwrok in the spirituality section -- where my blog is also listed. Keep up the good work, you are an excellent writer!
Posted by: Rabbi Gershom | February 16, 2011 at 08:50 AM
Yes, keep up the good work! I hadn't visited for a while, so just enjoyed reading the last three posts. That spare, simple sensibility that you describe so well in your post on Japanese art comes through in your writing and keeps me coming back for more.
Posted by: Julene | February 26, 2011 at 09:16 AM
This weekend I watched as magpies hopped over a deer lying in the neighbor's yard. They pecked at her, and she barely had the energy to shoo them away. The magpies knew that she was sick, possibly dying. Such is the cycle of life and the attention in those transitional stages.
Posted by: Laurel Kallenbach | March 15, 2011 at 10:40 PM
Today's animal encounter in our backyard involved a visiting deer, who was quite comfortable standing around, lying down and occasionally trimming a bush or two. We opened the door a crack, and Johnny Cash, the Cat in Black slinked out. He was wary and slowly approached Bambi in a low-to-the-ground crawl. Pretty soon, they were nose-to-nose. Neither scared the other. Eventually, Bambi got bored and wandered off, and Johnny appeared nonplused (sp?) by the entire encounter.
Posted by: Claire Walter | March 19, 2011 at 03:33 PM
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