I don't know what the range of the Blue Jay is, but if you are from Texas, you learned early about this ornately blue bird with a tuft of feather on it's head like a cow lick and a black beard like a pirate.
Indeed some in Austin have infamously referred to the Blue Jay as a "trash bird" for their pirating of dog and cat food from back yards.
Known to the Texan, the Blue Jay's sonic repertoire or vocabulary includes a confident four syllable chirp uttered in a staccato fashion, "di da di da" "di da di da", the jovial lazy bird chirp, "Laaazy Bird" (your interpretation of that one may differ I reckon), the barely audible chirp of mild irritation or angst, "da da da da..." and finally the loud and raucous chirp some may consider back yard noise pollution.
It is this last noise pollution chirp, something like, "beyah... beyah... beyah..." that can be found in the sound track of one of the Greater Tuna's, perhaps Christmas. Somewhere in the back of your Texan mind from early childhood, you remember this sound, often amplified and echoed, perhaps even before you ever remember having seen a passel of Blue Jays. Simply put, this loud early memory cacophony is what, in part, makes and defines you as a Texan.
But what you may never have discovered or thought to discern is why Blue Jay passels engage in this obnoxious aural assault. Until now, at least for me that is. Here is my story.
Yestarday I went to school to pick up my kids... I drive a short one mile and park a street away. My youngest sees me, waves, hugs the teacher and then gathers a scowel and berates me as she approaches: I forgot we were supposed to walk home today. I did indeed forget, this will be the first time this school year, but I assure her we can walk home anyway. I'll just come back to get the car. We hook up with the older sibling and leave. As we near our block, I hear a passel of Jays going at it noisily. I spot the birds busily bouncing up and down on a low Spanish Oak branch. A venerable grackle sits on a brick wall close to the street directly under the Spanish Oak, and I think perhaps the Jay birds are giving the grackle grief. But the grackle appears more interested in the ground than the Jays and I readjust my theory to perhaps the Jays are trying to scare off the grackle, who perhaps, has decided to make a tasty meal of a fallen baby Jay. I've never heard of or seen a grackle do such a thing so I decide to investigate, in an attempt to save the baby Jay should there be one.
I approach the brick wall, fronted by some hurting and evenly spaced shrubs in poor afternoon baked soil sprinkled liberally with pecan sized river flint. The Blue Jays and grackle scatter leaving a palpable silence.
When you are trying to puzzle out a local Mystery of Nature, you must be patient, search diligently and be prepared for failure as that happens often much as in any kind of hunting. To my mild surprise, I spy an anguine shape stick still curled up between one of the shrubs and brick wall. Indeed it was a about a two foot long snake, but I could not tell what kind. I did spend a careful minute looking for and not finding a rattle. I called the kids over for a careful look and was tempted to kill it to rid the Jays of a problem and collect a trophy for the kids. However, instead, I had to grudgingly reward the serpent for its excellently deployed freeze strategy and the kids and I finished our journey home.
My wife drove me to pick up my car. As we passed the scene of discovery, I pointed out the location to my wife and just caught a glimpse of a single Jay sitting on the low Spanish Oak branch.
Indeed some in Austin have infamously referred to the Blue Jay as a "trash bird" for their pirating of dog and cat food from back yards.
Known to the Texan, the Blue Jay's sonic repertoire or vocabulary includes a confident four syllable chirp uttered in a staccato fashion, "di da di da" "di da di da", the jovial lazy bird chirp, "Laaazy Bird" (your interpretation of that one may differ I reckon), the barely audible chirp of mild irritation or angst, "da da da da..." and finally the loud and raucous chirp some may consider back yard noise pollution.
It is this last noise pollution chirp, something like, "beyah... beyah... beyah..." that can be found in the sound track of one of the Greater Tuna's, perhaps Christmas. Somewhere in the back of your Texan mind from early childhood, you remember this sound, often amplified and echoed, perhaps even before you ever remember having seen a passel of Blue Jays. Simply put, this loud early memory cacophony is what, in part, makes and defines you as a Texan.
But what you may never have discovered or thought to discern is why Blue Jay passels engage in this obnoxious aural assault. Until now, at least for me that is. Here is my story.
Yestarday I went to school to pick up my kids... I drive a short one mile and park a street away. My youngest sees me, waves, hugs the teacher and then gathers a scowel and berates me as she approaches: I forgot we were supposed to walk home today. I did indeed forget, this will be the first time this school year, but I assure her we can walk home anyway. I'll just come back to get the car. We hook up with the older sibling and leave. As we near our block, I hear a passel of Jays going at it noisily. I spot the birds busily bouncing up and down on a low Spanish Oak branch. A venerable grackle sits on a brick wall close to the street directly under the Spanish Oak, and I think perhaps the Jay birds are giving the grackle grief. But the grackle appears more interested in the ground than the Jays and I readjust my theory to perhaps the Jays are trying to scare off the grackle, who perhaps, has decided to make a tasty meal of a fallen baby Jay. I've never heard of or seen a grackle do such a thing so I decide to investigate, in an attempt to save the baby Jay should there be one.
I approach the brick wall, fronted by some hurting and evenly spaced shrubs in poor afternoon baked soil sprinkled liberally with pecan sized river flint. The Blue Jays and grackle scatter leaving a palpable silence.
When you are trying to puzzle out a local Mystery of Nature, you must be patient, search diligently and be prepared for failure as that happens often much as in any kind of hunting. To my mild surprise, I spy an anguine shape stick still curled up between one of the shrubs and brick wall. Indeed it was a about a two foot long snake, but I could not tell what kind. I did spend a careful minute looking for and not finding a rattle. I called the kids over for a careful look and was tempted to kill it to rid the Jays of a problem and collect a trophy for the kids. However, instead, I had to grudgingly reward the serpent for its excellently deployed freeze strategy and the kids and I finished our journey home.
My wife drove me to pick up my car. As we passed the scene of discovery, I pointed out the location to my wife and just caught a glimpse of a single Jay sitting on the low Spanish Oak branch.
