I’ve spend a good portion of my waking hours observing nature – all of it: fauna, flora, and humans. Most of the time this is done subconsciously. I seem to have been born with some tools making me predisposed to this, although I’m not completely certain what those tools are. I’m reasonably certain two play a significant factor. I lucked out with greater than average vision and I have a prewired sensitivity to patterns, especially when something doesn’t fit. Sometimes, I get the “something isn’t quite right here feeling” that could make me a candidate as an Agatha Christie sleuth. Consciously though, I am curious about specific aspects of natural behaviors and one of those is the behaviors of birds.

I find birds fascinating, not so much for what they do, but more so in how they differ from the conceptions we have of them, even in scientific studies. I believe there’s a tendency to think of birds as closer to us than they really are. I mean, the dinosaurs died out and that led to the rise of birds and mammals, right? So we’ve been growing together for the last 66 million years. And look at how their best and brightest have behaviors so like us: crows using tools, parrots reasoning and talking, magpies counting. Why, they’re kind of like our close cousins. But they’re not. Nope. If an octopus could read this, I bet it would chuckle knowingly.

You see, birds separated from us a long, long, long, looooong, time ago. Mammals (specifically, early mammal-like animals) branched off from the reptiles some 310 million years ago. The reptiles went on to diverge giving rise to dinosaurs some 240 million years ago and around 80 million years after that, early birds appeared. But I want to focus on that first point in time. The proto mammals are called synapsids and the line leading years later to dinosaurs then birds are called sauropsids. And that synapsid / sauropsid split was the last time you could consider us “cousins”. In fact, birds are more closely related to snakes than us. Ever watch birds eat? It looks more reptilian than our chewing. A hell of a lot happened to us between then and now.

So what we witness in respect to avian intelligence is best thought of as convergent evolution. This is when two completely different species develop a common solution to environmental conditions. Dolphins’ and Ichthyosaurs’ body forms are classic examples. We may recognize behaviors and think kinship, but we merely hold up mirrors to ourselves. Those behaviors may be the same outwardly, but the clockwork underneath can be very different.

Now for me, that separation is all levels of awesome. It means if you are fortunate to intellectually connect somehow with a bird then, despite the likely misrepresentations by both parties, you are connecting across an immense gap. That’s why I mentioned the octopus. They’re quite intelligent. Exceptionally different underlying structure, but similar thought processes emerge. So where this rambling preamble is leading is simply to make you aware of how alien birds are to us while being, at times, incredibly familiar.

I’ve happily had more free time in the last few years to make more focused observations of the behaviors of birds in my area and here are three observations you may or may not find interesting.

One: Birds of Different Feathers Flock Together.Left to right, a red-bellied woodpecker, red-winged blackbird, and a blue jay

The image above is a composite of three photos I took on a rainy winter’s day. All three birds were in my sizable fig tree as they were communally keeping tabs on each other. During winter months I observe certain species watching and learning from each other. In this case, the blue jay is one of a group of five who will look for food together and keep a watch for predators together. However, there are a few other species I’ve observed traveling and working with that group, notably three woodpeckers (a red-belly pair and a hairy woodpecker), a redwing and two cardinals. Other cardinals show up with sparrows and finches, but these two are not transient like those are. More on “my” cardinals later. The main point is that these different species adapt a more communal strategy to survive winter. Once times are plentiful, they will stake out claims and compete with each other.

Now seeing this group dynamic is a bit interesting, but what elevates it to fascinating is the learning transfer that occurs almost to the point of imprinting in the case of the blue jays. This particular group of blue jays knows me very well and has been here for years. I will, especially when temps drop below freezing, throw out some in-shell peanuts and other bird seed for them. The red-bellied woodpecker and the redwing will also grab the peanuts and, only during winter, follow the blue jays lead and will look for and not fear my presence. They learned that by watching the jays and picking up their cues. But here’s the twist. There is another group of four jays that will sometimes be with “my” five. However, this group hangs out with exceptionally skittish grackles and starlings. So when I go out with some food, they fly off in panic. It amazes me they’ll keep to the rules of their non-species buddies rather than learn from their own species and this behavioral difference between the two blue jay groups maintains throughout the rest of the year.

Two: I’m Doing the Best I Can with the Tools I’ve GotA northern cardinal

The particular behavior exhibited by this cardinal amazes me because it illustrates my earlier point of how the internal clockwork of their thought processes is different from ours. This cardinal and its mate have known me for at least three years. I give the female credit with recognizing me as not a threat and a treat source first. I’ll throw them shelled peanuts. By the way, the reason I’m using shelled and un-shelled peanuts is because it’s easy for me to limit and direct who gets the treats. If I indiscriminately put out bird seed a grackle or a starling will show up and each will then invite 50 of their closest friends to join in.

Anyway, have you ever heard a male northern cardinal’s call during mating season? Close up? It’s LOUD. Not unpleasant, just LOUD. Look it up if you haven’t. The source in that link is from a distance. The rest of the year, they limit themselves, male and female, to quiet high-pitched singular cheeps. So here’s where it gets interesting.

As I mentioned, the blue jays and cardinals know me well. If they spot me inside, they’ll look in to observe and if they’re hoping for a treat, they’ll try to get my attention. In late spring once it’s warm enough for me to keep my back doors open, they will wait in the nearby fig tree. When they’re really hungry, they’ll make calls. The blue jays have a variety and which one they opt to use seems to be based on individual preference. But the male cardinal will perch on the branch closest to the door, face towards my house then use its mating call and I can hear that even if I’m out at the supermarket doing food shopping. But here’s the neat thing, it only uses that call during mating season. The rest of the time it’s frustratingly stuck using the hard-to-hear cheep. It seems like some internal process shuts down the use of that call and he loses the ability to leverage it as a call for food. There’s your window into a different thought process.

Three: The Ugly DucksA pair of mallard ducks

Okay, I have to forewarn you this one is a bit of a downer and rather disturbing. I know it upset me. So, if you want, you can abandon here. That’s okay.

Many of us are familiar with the mallard ducks. Their range spreads across the northern hemisphere and even dips down to parts of Africa. They, along with geese, swans, eagles, puffins and a few others, are notable example of birds who mate for life. One of the most common idyllic sights I have during summer is a pair of mallards making their way down the canal with ducklings in tow. And I have to stress this is the most common mallard behavior I’ve seen during summer over the 25 years I’ve lived here. But on three occasions I have witness a behavior which was far from idyllic. All three were variants of same scenario with similar outcomes, but the worst was two years ago.

Working in the yard I was distracted by frenzied duck squawking. When I glanced up, I saw a female with five ducklings in tow. All were quacking loudly. Diving in from different angles were three different males. At first I thought some other predator was near, but one of the males flew straight for the female in an attempt to mate with her. She fought him briefly than flew forward several yards only to have another male make the same attempt. Again a brief fight and flight, this time out of the canal and onto a neighbors property. The three males repeatedly harassed her, zigzagging across this canal and over to the next as her ducklings vainly attempted to determine where she was in order to follow and they began to separate. Once a male succeeded in mating, it left leaving the other two to continue. This entire scene went on for about 20 minutes until she and the last remaining male disappeared. By that point there were only two frantic ducklings visible in the canal. The others had scattered losing their way and their mother.

As I said, it was disturbing. I felt awful for the ducklings and their mom. The similar event this year involved a lone female but no ducklings were present. In all my years watching nature shows, I’ve never seen this representation depicted in mallards. I’ve seen males competing and fighting with each other both here and in the documentaries, but always with a peaceful resolution where the couple then remain together for life. Again, it just illustrates how we sometimes impute human-based ideals on animal behavior and then take that linkage for granted, ignoring the outliers which are part of another species repertoire.

[All photos in this post are copyrighted by Richard L. Pastore 2025 and may not be distributed, nor used for AI training without the express permission of the photographer.]