When you spend hours and hours watching the same community of birds in the same place over the course of weeks, months and years, you risk the chance of getting a little bored. To keep things interesting, I have taken it upon myself to keep monthly lists of birds that I see in my yard and this definitely keeps me on my toes. Forever trying to outdo the last “best” list for any specific month, I carefully scrutinize the birds that I see in an attempt to pick up on something out of the ordinary.
Sometimes this results in my observation of a particular species that was desperately needed for my monthly collection. Sometimes I notice something a little off with an American goldfinch and it will turn out not to be a goldfinch at all, but a pine siskin instead. The same can be true with house finches and purple finches, the latter being a rare find that adds a much-needed species to my lists.
Other times my patient vigil at the kitchen window produces observations of the usual species with unusual personal issues. Little patches of white feathers where they aren’t supposed to be indicate leucism. Extra tufts of feathers where they don’t belong indicate small mutations. And then there are the more serious conditions like missing toes, or horrible injuries sustained as the result of hawk attacks. But every once in a while I see something that just makes me sad.
As an example, I share with you today a photo that I took on January 17. The subject is a male house finch (Haemorhous mexicanus) and my attention was originally drawn in his direction by his overall appearance. This bird was hopping around on my deck with at least 50 other birds that were all looking for something to eat. The number of house finches in my yard has been satisfyingly high this year with no sign of avian conjunctivitis, which is an infectious disease of the eyes that can be fatal to the infected birds. I have kept my feeders clean and it seems to have worked, so far.
One of the signs that an individual bird might have such an infection is a rather sluggish demeanor and an overall fluffing and puffing of the body feathers. This suggests that a bird isn’t feeling well and that it is trying to stay warm. Like any one of us, a sick bird can generally go about its business, but a little slower, a little more clumsy and bundled up against a chill. I think anyone can relate to this feeling, so it is easy to empathize with a little bird.
So, when I saw this male house finch acting a little off, I suspected conjunctivitis. A close look at the uninfected eyes was all I needed to shatter that idea, but I did notice that this bird seemed to have a lot of snow stuck to his beak. This is not an uncommon occurrence on snowy days, but there was something a little extreme about this particular situation, so I gave it a closer look. What I finally realized that I was seeing definitely caught me by surprise. The bird was missing most of his upper beak!
Years ago, I followed the progress of a couple of black-capped chickadees that had similar beak deformities. As time went by their conditions worsened until parts of their beaks started to break off. It was sad to watch, but there was absolutely nothing that could be done. They were too healthy to capture, but even if I had managed to get hold of them, then what? Artificial beaks simply aren’t something that can be easily accomplished for such little birds. All I could do was watch these conspicuous little birds until they became conspicuous in their absence.
I can’t explain why this male house finch is missing a good portion of his upper beak. Was this the result of a mutation, or a disease, or a physical accident? I’d have to have the bird in hand to even start to figure it all out, but that isn’t generally how things go with wild animals. This little guy seemed to be getting something to eat. I put out shelled sunflower seeds, which are already in small pieces, and he had enough beak to work with to pick up seeds and chop them into chunks that were small enough to swallow. He had plenty of energy and was able to fly, despite the fact that he clearly didn’t feel well. There was no way for me to capture him.
I have followed the progress of this individual bird for over a week and he has managed to hang on. The strangest things can happen out in the “wild,” even when they happen right outside your kitchen window. I suppose there is always a narrow chance that the bird could survive the cold and the ever-present danger of hawks that wait and watch for prey that stand out as easy targets. My guess is that at some point I will simply notice that I haven’t seen this bird in a while. Did he move on to other places? Did a hawk get him? Did the cold finally take its toll? It will likely remain a mystery.
Bill Danielson has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 28 years. He has worked for the National Park Service, the US Forest Service, the Nature Conservancy and the Massachusetts State Parks and he currently teaches high school biology and physics. For more information visit www.speakingofnature.com, Speaking of Nature on Facebook, or search for the Speaking of Nature Podcast.