My birder friend Bob in Reno reports that coots have begun courting at Swan Lake. At this end, I’ve observed similar rituals in my backyard, mainly among the invasive fox squirrels, one of which has been angling to gain entrance into my office sanctuary.
I’m not nuts about the squirrels, whose appetite for peanuts has emptied the feeder I set out for scrub jays. But what can I do? I chase them off, but they come right back
Momentarily, I expect to hear the staccato rat-a-tat-tat of a male Northern Flicker pecking atop a nearby telephone pole. Between rap sessions, he’ll pause—listening for a response from a female Flicker.
“It’s a long distance call,” explains Bob. “That’s why they use telephone poles.”
Even better is a metal chimney flue. The ensuing racket has been known to result in 911 calls.
By and by, I expect the mourning doves will be pairing up—not by flapping like coots or rapping like woodpeckers, but by subtle moves. I’ve noticed that the courtship phase of doves is quite prolonged, whereas copulation is wham, bang, thank you ma’am. Pretty much as I remember from my teenage years—the prolonged courtship phase, that is.
Speaking of teenagers, yesterday I caught sight of two young squirrels making out in the shrubbery, and instead of looking away, I ran outside and shouted at them to knock it off. Which they immediately did, striking poses very similar to those of randy adolescents, after the officer taps on the driver’s side window of their parked car.
