Magpie Summer

By

Deborah Cavel-Greant

He came into our lives one morning in earliest May. He had intense cobalt-blue eyes, fuzzy black down through which had begun to peek his glossy adult plumage of black, iridescent blue and white, and the loudest voice I've ever heard outside an opera hall. He was dirty, hungry and terrified but still blazingly defiant in spite of his vulnerability.

 He'd been brought to us because of our success in hand-raising small things, including birds, in the past. Since I am not skilled in determining the sex of birds, 'it' became a he just as soon as I looked into those angry and bewildered blue eyes. He just 'looked' male, don't ask me why or how!

 Whatever 'his' sex, he desperately needed food. He had been found the previous morning, and his 'finder' hadn't been able to get him to eat so we knew he hadn't eaten in at least 24 hours, maybe longer, which is a long time for an infant of any species. He was only the size of a small robin so finger-feeding was out of the question. His beak was too small. He was also too young to simply eat out of hand or swallow food that had not been pushed to the back of his throat.

 We solved the problem by recruiting a pair of medical hemostats from my crafting tools. In the kitchen we tore off chunks of some hard whole-grain Russian rye bread, soaked it in a milk-egg mixture, and began the frustrating process of getting the first bite into him.

 He initially seemed convinced that we were trying to kill him, and his only response was a clenched beak. After a couple of minutes though he opened his mouth to scream what certainly must have been magpie curses. We were ready, and thrust the loaded hemostats deep into the gaping mouth.

 Once was all it took. He swallowed, did a birdish double-take, considered the situation and threw his beak open again and again until his hunger was satisfied. But in the days that followed it became apparent he was not especially fond of French toast, or anything else we tried to feed him. He ate enough to stay alive, but not enough to thrive. He'd open his mouth, take the food, taste it, and spit it out. Yuk!' he seemed to be saying. "You guys are not much in the cooking department are you?"

 We tried to think like magpies. What would a pair of 'pie parents feed a nestful of screaming youngsters? Whatever it was it wasn't anything we'd tried so far. So we went off to the bait shop and bought maggots (some say magpies got their name from eating maggots so it seemed a reasonable guess). We also bought some fine-looking worms and some other disgusting things. Sorry. None of the above appealed to the epicure. He definitely did not like crawly stuff in his mouth.

 At this point I became a little concerned that the bird-police would show up on my doorstep and haul me off to a cage for keeping a native bird in captivity. I called the local bird sanctuary, and obviously got the wrong guy. He told me that magpies were no more than pests and that I should kill the damn thing and pride myself on being the saviour of songbirds.

 I admit I was more than a little offended. It wasn't that I was attached to the bird yet, but I don't tend to think of wild animals as 'good' or 'bad', and feel that if a species is here it has a place in the eco-system, even if we don't understand or appreciate it. I don't think we humans are as wise at 'managing' the environment as we feel we are. We can't even decide what wildlife we value and thus want to protect, and what should be wiped out to 'preserve' the wilderness as we'd like to pretend it is. Do we protect wolves or shoot and trap them? Do we protect the buffaloes we 'planted'a few years ago in a remote northern park or slaughter them wholesale because ranchers fear they might spread disease to their precious cattle? (This is a whole other topic, don't get me started!)  

Anyway it was apparent that I could keep a houseful of magpie chicks and no one would give a flip, so I quit worrying about it. In Alberta it is permissible to shoot, trap or poison or evidently, capture, magpies. Unlike most native birds they are totally unprotected.

 By this point 'Screech', whose ear-drum shattering call sounded like two very large wood rasps being drawn together, was getting mighty fed up with our menu. We were at wits end. Then we thought of the bag of bait smelt in the freezer. We had bought the tiny fish as a treat for our cats, who immediately decided they much prefered garlic roast beef from the deli, thanks. I thawed a couple, cut them in half-inch pieces, and offered them to the bird. He practically went berserk. His mama and papa must have been fishermen (fisherbirds?). He ate fish until I was afraid he'd founder himself, and though we added commercial bird-rearing mix to his diet later, along with a variety of other foods, fish remained his favorite meal.

 After we discovered what he liked to eat he grew rapidly, and the focus of care turned from keeping him full to keeping him entertained. He was extremely curious and highly intelligent, and became bored easily. What he liked was company - all the time- and when he didn't have it he pruned the houseplants in the greenhouse where he lived when he was unsupervised, or dug up roots, or pecked holes in our clothing and stole things.

 He liked to play soccer, kicking the small hard-sponge ball he'd stolen from the cats, ahead of him, and he expected you to join in and roll the ball so he could chase after it, running with alternating steps, as you or I do. He also like to play with a small wooden wheel which he rolled by pushing with his beak, like children used to roll hoops with sticks. As he grew older he enjoyed untying knots in string, an amazing feat for a bird. We tied his food on a string and hung it from one of his perches. We thought this challenge might keep him amused for a day or two. He figured it out in 5 minutes.

 Everything was a toy to him. One of his favourites was a string of wooden beads that he'd drag around with him, hang on plant branches, float in his bath, and play hide and seek with. There seemed to be no end to his imagination. He could take the most common-place article and turn it into a plaything, but as soon as the possibilities of a new object was thoroughly explored, it was discarded, and his attention turned elsewhere.

 He was attentive and affectionate with the whole family, but preferred our younger son, Zak, and me to everyone else. He perched on our hands, heads and shoulders, preened our hair, rubbed his beak across our cheeks and chuckled and cooed to us. When he was feeling particularly babyish he liked to soothe himself by sucking on my fingers, exactly as a young puppy might.

 This sucking behaviour also seemed to be his method of choice for calming himself after anything upset him. I once entered his area with a broom in hand, intending to sweep the floor around his nest, which was a box filled with cedar chips. When he saw the broom he went into a panic, screaming and dashing wildly back and forth. I immediately put the broom outside the door, and sat down near him. He was beginning to fly well by this point, and he made several passes overhead, raking at me with his talons each time. Finally he began to settle down, landed nearby and crawled into my lap. He nudged at my hand, which was his, "I want a finger" signal, and he sucked on my finger and cried softly for a long time.

 After giving it some thought I realized he may have mistaken the long, slender broom handle for a gun, even though he probably had never seen a gun himself. Then again, he could have been orphaned by someone with a pellet gun and a vendetta against magpies. We'll never know. Is it possible that magpies pass essential (deathstick) knowledge on to their young long before they even leave the nest, or have they developed an instinctual fear of guns in the last 150 years?

 Originally magpies (known in Latin as pica pica, black and white) followed the huge herds of buffaloes across the prairies, though the magpie is found even in Europe. When the buffalo herds were wiped out this native bird almost disappeared. There were none found around early Albertan settlements where they must have previously existed by the hundreds, until 1905 when the first ones were seen in Lethbridge, south of Calgary.

 We destroyed the eco-system that magpies had flourished in for all of their history, but they have adapted successfully to the impoverished environment our technology has created. This adaptability is a trait they share with man. They are despised by many because they sometimes prey on the eggs and hatchlings of smaller birds, but the fact is that magpies demonstrate many qualities we find admirable in other large birds, and the success of their comeback is probably due to these very qualities.

 Magpies gather in winter flocks but they do not migrate. The young adults spend the winter in courtship ritual. Once paired off they are monogamous and bond for life. They build their large nest in the very top of a conifer tree while it is still cold. The nest is constructed of rough sticks, but the pair roof it over and build both front and rear entrances. Inside they thatch it with mud, plant material and hair, to make a warm and safe place for their anticipated family.

 Laying begins in early April and continues throughout the month. Some pairs lay early, others late. The male feeds and guards his mate while she lays and incubates the 4-8 eggs. Incubation takes three weeks. The little birds grow rapidly and are fledged and ready to leave the nest as a group, hopping from branch to branch, in four weeks. The parents continue to care for them until they are mature, in fact magpies care for their chicks longer than any other kind of bird - up to six months.

 We estimate from his size that Screech was about two weeks old when we got him. He wanted to do nothing more at first than eat and sleep and recover from his ordeal, but his interest in the world outside his nestbox grew daily. He quickly began mimicking our voices, and the inflections we used. Within a few days of his arrival he was saying hello when we entered his space, and I swear he called me 'Mama' several times. On the other hand he could peel paint off a battle-cruiser with his calls for company or at sunrise (5:00 A.M.) when he wanted breakfast.

 We enjoyed his antics, watched in amazement as he mastered the puzzles and challenges we laid out for him with lightening speed, and were charmed by his affectionate nature. It was suggested by several people that he had imprinted on us, and didn't realize that he was a bird, but that was not true. He enjoyed bird-watching through the glass roof of the greenhouse, and 'commented' on the gulls, geese and smaller birds that flew by. But when a magpie flew by he called to them with the same call he used to summon us, and he would stand and beat his wings in great excitement. He knew he was a bird. More specifically he knew he was a magpie!

 May and June came and went, and by mid July he was a big bird, an expert flyer, and increasingly interested in the 'wild' foods we brought him. The dreaded squirmy maggots he had spit out in disgust earlier became fun to search out and gobble. (I will never admit to a living soul that I bought and released live maggots in my house!) But he was very good at finding them, and it kept him entertained. The few that survived to fly-hood he caught on the wing. It was time to set him free.

 We loaded him, under protest, into the cat carrier and drove to a nearby park with a large wild area. One of Calgary's rivers runs through this park. One bank consists of a gravel and sand bar, edged by trees and underbrush. The other bank is backed by a high cliff. There is a large resident flock of magpies living there. They scatter during the day to forage but congregate in the early evening to sweep en masse down the river valley.

 We took him out of the carrier and sat it down on the gravel bar. He immediately perched on my shoulder, swiveling his head around to take in this new view. We gave him the grand tour, showing him how to turn over wet rocks to search for snails, turn over leaves to find bugs, search out worms. He found it fascinating and began to take little flights back and forth in and out of the trees. We left him to play and sat down on the river bank. A couple walking their dog scrambled down a path on the cliff and settled in to throw sticks for the dog, across the river, some 25 or 30 feet away.

 Screech continued to fly around and investigate, calling to us frequently. The people across the river obviously thought we were nuts, as we squawked and clacked our tongues, answering Screech as we always had done. Then he hurtled out of the trees, swooped around us and landed on my head. Their jaws dropped. He hopped to my shoulder, and then to my lap, holding up a pebble he'd picked up and wanted to share. He played in the water around our feet, chuckling happily, and we were beginning to get the sickening feeling that this was not going to be as easy as we had anticipated.

 The flock of magpies made another pass and though he called to them he made no move to join them. He had by now perched in a small tree nearby and another juvenile magpie left the flock and came to sit beside him. He was obviously interested, but made no move to follow it when it flew away. We got up to leave and he followed us, so we showed him yet another neat thing, caterpillars climbing along a branch. While he was concentrating on eating them we eased away. We were about 100 feet away and hidden by the trees and understory before he noticed we were gone. He began to call us, his voice becoming more and more pleading as we did not answer. I was fighting tears as we reached the car and drove away.

 I didn't sleep that night. All I could hear were Screech's desperate cries. When morning came we drove back to the park. The forest seemed empty. The only birds we saw were a family of crows, foraging insects on a dead log. We drove away with heavy hearts.

 In the evening we went back to sit on the riverbank. It was hot and still. Small birds twittered and sang in the trees behind us. And, although we could not see them, we could hear the crow family cawing in the distance. There were no magpies anywhere. Then suddenly, the flock rounded a bend in the river and cascaded toward us. To our surprise they flew to the area where we were sitting and landed, scattered in trees on both sides of the river. One juvenile bird left the flock and flew directly to us, landing a few feet away in a three foot tree. I stood up and approached it slowly, and it began to chuckle. I held up my hand, and the bird looked at it and cooed softly. It looked back to where the flock was fluttering in the trees, and at my hand. I took my hand away. We had raised him for freedom.

 He chuckled at me again, looked over his shoulder at the flock – his flock - and flew away. They all rose at once as he joined them, and flapped away up the valley. As it was meant to be - he was free.

Postscript

 Screech is obviously thriving in the wild - but he returned several times to visit us briefly during his second summer, perching on our balcony railings to peer in the windows and 'talk', and sitting in the tree outside Zak's bedroom window to chat, usually just at daybreak (typical!). He followed Zak as he walked to nearby destinations, and allowed Zak to walk right up to him, something a normally wary magpie would never do. As we approach his third summer we wait to see if he'll return again this year. 

 In Screech’s third year he took a wife and they raised three handsome  but loud youngsters.  One morning there was a terrible magpie commotion in the tree just off the deck, but by the time I had gotten there the pies had  moved on to the tree just outside the greenhouse. I hurried back inside and  opened the widow to find Screech and the three babies in the tree outside the window.  It appears he had brought the babies to visit us on their first  trip out of the nest!

 It’s  2003 and now been eight years since we rescued Screech. He and his  Missus seem to have taken up permanent residence in the big fir tree across  our courtyard.  He still answers when we call, but no longer approaches us.   They have raised from one to three chicks most years, but in 2001 they  raised no chicks. 

 A daughter hatched the first year stayed with her parents the second year, mated the third year but returned to her parents the fourth and stayed with them until mating  again last year.  She has helped them raise their chicks every year, which  has probably helped them be successful as parents. We were puzzled that the three of them raised no chicks in 2001.

 Last year (2002) they moved their nest to a big fir just off our deck, but again they raised no chicks. But this time we could see why. Shortly before the chicks would have left the nest a wire-walking black squirrel made its way from across the courtyard, dragged the chicks from the nest and ate them. 

 Screech and the Missus were inconsolable for days, crying and flying endlessly around the courtyard.  After about a week they disappeared until fall, but they were back for winter, and we trust that there are chicks in a nest now, but we don’t know where they have put it.  We hope they have found a safer location.

 This year we are worried about a bigger threat to our corvids – West Nile virus. It didn’t reach Alberta’s birds last year, but we have been warned that it is coming.  I hope that this time next year we can still look out our windows and see our charming and intelligent pica pica swoop by in all his dapper glory.  

2003 Update

   Screech and the Missus have just brought three youngsters out of their nest. I'm not sure where the nest is - somewhere away from that damn squirrel!  But I first heard, then saw them a couple of mornings ago. The young have a peculiar scream when demanding food from the parent (boy do I know that scream!)  I heard it and so went to the window in time to see the five of them take off from a tree in the courtyard and fly by.  They will probably disappear until fall now. They'll join the large flock during the evenings.  But it's good to see that they have raised chicks this year.

2004 Update

     In the spring of 2004 Screech and his mate raised a family of three chicks. We were very worried about him and his family because West Nile Virus reached Alberta in 2004, but so far it doesn't seem to have made any impact in our area, where there's an aggressive mosquito control program. Screech seemed to be in fine form that summer. He and the Missus raised all of their chicks, unlike the year when the bad squirrel ate the young chicks.

 I can't give you a further update, as we moved, in August of 2004 and are several miles from Screech's neighborhood now. I am just so happy that our little chick survived in the wild, and lived a normal magpie family life. We have a pair of magpies in this neighborhood. I watch them with so much more understanding than before.

© 1996, 1997 51 Degrees North

Many, many thanks to Deborah for graciously sharing her very special "wild-friend" with us!

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