Helping Birds Decorate Their Nests

You’ve heard the saying, “Looks can be deceiving.” That statement describes our little terrier’s coat. When you meet him, he looks like a sleek pooch who doesn’t shed.  That’s true July through February. However, when the calendar says spring, he gives March Madness a new interpretation.

Most folks who meet the winter Buster love to pet his silky fur and rub his soft ears.  Let them visit before a spring de-thatching, and they’ll wear Buster home. That little guy sheds like a champ. If there were Olympics for losing winter hair, our pet would win a gold medal.

Once we’re well into summer and he’s down to his hot weather duds, I forget about his ability to fill brush after brush with taupe fluff.  Throughout the cold months, I don’t think a thing about Buster’s special talent, but come those first warm days, and I remember he’s a nest building bird’s best friend.

As soon as I spy that first filament separating from a follicle, we spend spa time together.  I don’t know that he sees getting repeatedly swiped with a grooming glove as pleasurable, but I’m on a mission to capture that loose hair before it gets on me or someone else. He’s just a little guy—only 14 pounds, but he fills the grooming mitt or the wire brush time after time with handfuls of velvety fiber. 

 

For years, I tossed his winter long johns in the trash as quickly as I gleaned them even though I’d heard of folks who harvest their beloved beasts’ hair and spin it into yarn to use to weave or knit. That seemed over the top even considering how much raw material my little  half Jack Russell sloughs off each year. I figure he’s good to supply a child-size sweater.

During my musings, I read that birds line their nests with anything downy, including pet hair. Aha, the ultimate repurposing without purchasing a spinning wheel and the accouterments to take up either knitting or weaving.

Learning to up-cycle my pooch’s fuzz to improve neighborhood bird real estate changed Buster’s spring curse to a blessing.  Instead of being upset that his winter growth falls out, I pledge to capture every strand to share with robins, sparrows, wrens, flycatchers, cardinals, orioles, and even blue jays. 

Old Sol’s rays beat down to warm the tops of Buster’s and my heads and shoulders while balmy breezes riffle over us. As I comb my little friend to retrieve nest-decorating supplies, I hope my companion enjoys his western Kansas version of a tropical beauty treatment.

Spotting Buster’s fuzzy discards lining a bird nest makes those hours grooming him worthwhile.  I like thinking the coat that warmed him through cold winter days keeps future serenaders toasty and comfy until they fledge into summer skies.  

Master Recycler

For weeks I have eyeballed a dead deer in a nearby wheat field.  Each time I pass, I see carrion eaters have whittled the carcass.  When I first spotted the broken body, I wished a highway crew would pick it up.  After observing how many meals it has provided not only to crows and magpies, but also to other scavengers, it served a better purpose where it is.

In nature nothing goes to waste.  My grandmothers recognized this truth as they recycled string, foil, sacks,  and glass. Plastic, foil, and paper may be convenient, but they will be humanity’s downfall.

Years ago, my family traveled to Cherokee Village near Talequah, Oklahoma. One discovery archeologists made as they researched the site was the lack of refuse in the middens.

The tour guides, descendants of former occupants, reminded us that ancient Americans used every part of creatures they harvested.  Skins provided shelter and clothing.  Villagers turned bones and bladders into tools, utensils, and containers. They used shells and claws for decorative and musical purposes.  Nothing went to the dump until it could not be recycled again. 

Nature follows the same rule. As soon as a beast or bird expires, its immediate biological functions cease, but new functions rev up.  The immediate use of the dead creature is obvious.  It is protein for other animals.  Using delicate nostrils, carrion eaters compete for delicacies.  At the same time, insect species discover the new food source and join the fray.

As insects arrive, the carcass assumes additional duties.  Many species utilize it as an incubator.  They drop in to eat, lay eggs, and depart, leaving larvae to incubate and perpetuate a species.

Once flesh is devoured, rodents zero in on remaining bones, a rich mineral source.  They nibble with relish.   We once discovered a shedding ground in Wyoming where we couldn’t find an un-gnawed antler.   

Not only does nature recycle her creatures, she provides plants, trees, and shrubs with remarkable recycling abilities. Walk through a wooded area and notice the carpet of dead leaves. 

Lift a section to observe a universe.   Those leaves and humus renew soil supporting everything living in that area.  Decomposition-generated warm temperatures initiate numerous biological processes.

 Fungi love decaying patches as they continue nature’s work breaking larger elements down into microscopic, absorbable elements. Similar activity occurs in compost piles, and good gardeners know compost is their friend.

Note fallen trees.  These  house birds, beasts, and insects.  Once decomposition begins, insects, bacteria, and fungi revitalize soil from which the tree sprouted. Kick it and watch it dissolve into sawdust and wood chips. 

It takes time to recycle plant and animal matter.  Despite our impatience watching this slow process, humans still create packaging that breaks down inefficiently.

Returning to recyclable packaging is a good idea.  It isn’t convenient, but convenience means we have time to squeeze one more stressor into an already crowded day.  If we enjoyed less convenience, we might enjoy the world more.  Stepping onto her porch to collect the morning milk delivery, Grandma saw many beautiful sunrises