tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72886393822347228852024-03-13T19:41:08.032-04:00The Useless CreaturesUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger170125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7288639382234722885.post-74936276742793309562014-05-11T12:23:00.000-04:002014-05-11T12:23:19.914-04:00Dump SitesWhat do you do with a deer carcass once it's been butchered? Law dictates that, save for the offal, one cannot simply leave the remains of their kill in the (public) woods. It's a bit of a conundrum, because nature's scavengers will happily claim whatever is left, but it's a law nonetheless. All the same, deer carcasses, post-butcher, are often dumped everywhere imaginable: roadside ditches, parking lots, trailheads. Some were hunted legally; others were poached. I <a href="http://jorieobrien.blogspot.com/2010/10/two-tales-of-deer-part-ii.html">documented a bit of this</a> a few years back, when I visited the Brighton Rec Area in Livingston County.<br />
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Of course, it happens here, too. At the end of April, in the span of just a few days, I bore witness to two separate dumpsites, both of them only a few miles from my house. The first, a small stream that crosses Silver Creek Road in Sands Township. The ribcages — two of them — were stripped of their flesh by scavengers, the bones bleached white in the sun. The smaller ribcage was all that remained of that carcass; the larger ribcage was connected to much of the deer's body. Its de-haired hide was submerged, flailing in the creek's current; the antlers had been cut away from the head. Judging by the amount of skin remaining, its attached forelegs, and sawed-off skullcap, I believe that this particular deer, and perhaps the other one as well, was poached.<br />
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A few days later, after fueling my Jeep, I noticed a crow feeding upon something in the empty lot adjacent to the gas station. We drove closer and realized that it was not one but two deer carcasses, dumped in a macabre embrace.<br />
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The smaller body was a young buck, antlers cut away from his skull; the other was a fairly large doe. They were likely dumped sometime over the winter and subsequently buried by the snow. </div>
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With the snow finally gone, we see the ugliness of winter left behind — at least, until spring's vegetation grows and hides it once again.</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7288639382234722885.post-16112653689168759692014-05-03T13:37:00.000-04:002014-05-03T13:37:58.762-04:00Ondatra zibethicusWhile beavers are the best-known semiaquatic rodent in North America, there's another that's more widespread: <a href="http://animaldiversity.ummz.umich.edu/accounts/Ondatra_zibethicus/">the muskrat</a>! Muskrats are found in streams, marshes, ponds, and slow-moving rivers, where they build small lodges out of cattails, reeds, and other plant materials. Unlike beavers, they don't create dams. Muskrats are a fraction of the size of beavers, usually weighing in at no more than two and a half pounds. Like the beaver, though, their fur is dense, soft, and waterproof — and as a result has long been an important part of the fur industry.<br />
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Earlier this week, we came upon a muskrat that had just been hit on the highway. Not far from where the body rested was a small creek, its waters higher with the recent rain and snow melt. After retrieving the muskrat, I brought it home to photograph. Right away, I made several observations, the first of which surprised me: muskrats do not have webbed feet! The toes on their hind feet are lined with thick, bristly fur which acts like webbing. Their appearance reminded me a lot of the feet of grebes and coots.<br />
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Muskrat claws are an interesting shape, as well. They're surprisingly sharp! The claws are long for a non-climbing rodent.<br />
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Beavers are famous for their broad, flat tails. Muskrats have flat tails as well, but they're dorsally flattened. The tail acts as a means of propulsion in the water, and this is quite obvious when the animals are seen swimming. In addition to being "scaly", the tail of the muskrat is also covered in sparse, bristly hair. Though the tail appears to be tough and rigid, it's actually quite pliable. </div>
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What struck me the most about this animal, though, was its fur. I've handled a lot of furbearers — mammals whose pelts are important to the fur industry — and muskrat fur is, by far, the most luxurious I've had the pleasure to feel. It's dense, thick, sleek, and soft all at once. Unlike other freshly-dead mammals I've examined, this muskrat seemed to have no external parasites: no fleas, no lice, no ticks. Could this be a result of the muskrat's thick fur and mostly-aquatic habits?<br />
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The muskrat has a very important role in Ojibwe lore, especially in relation to the creation story. One of the many versions of that story can be read <a href="http://www.native-art-in-canada.com/turtleisland.html">here</a>.<br />
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After I was done with the body, I rolled it down the riverbank for the neighborhood scavengers. Within a few hours, a pair of crows was feasting upon it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7288639382234722885.post-14136475775669847862014-04-26T14:28:00.000-04:002014-04-26T14:28:19.345-04:00DownstateLast week, Steph and I spent a handful of days in Ann Arbor, where the temperatures were in the mid-70s and the woods were colorful with blooming wildflowers.<br />
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Here and there, deer bones from years past poked through sun-parched grass and fallen beech leaves.<br />
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The first two photographs depict the same deer skeleton, seen at the Matthaei Botanical Gardens. They are the <a href="http://jorieobrien.blogspot.com/2013/03/a-dead-animal-sampler.html">bones of a doe I found there last March</a>, whose foot had been stuck in a guyline. The third photo is a squirrel-chewed deer jaw, spotted at the Nan Weston Nature Preserve.<br />
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Here in Marquette, the snow is mostly gone. Ice is still on Lake Superior and the temperatures have not climbed much higher than the mid-40s. Needless to say, we are more than ready for spring.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7288639382234722885.post-78011637941365367912014-04-03T22:00:00.001-04:002014-04-03T22:00:44.800-04:00The Thaw Before the StormAfter a week of above-freezing temperatures, the colossal snowbanks along the side streets and highways are starting to subside. In their wake they leave a winter's worth of accumulated sand, trash, car parts, and dead animals that have, until now, been encased in snow and ice. It's an ugly time of year, with the filthy road grime and brown snow, but it's also a <i>wonderful </i>time of year: it's early spring, the ground is thawing, and the ice on Lake Superior is melting away.<br />
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In typical Upper Peninsula fashion, of course, a snowstorm is barreling toward us now. Early April always seems to bring one last hurrah for winter in the form of several inches of heavy snow, only to have it melt within a day or two of falling.<br />
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On my way to work this morning, I spotted something that was very-white against the very-brown snowbank alongside the highway. It took me a moment to realize that what I saw was a snowshoe hare, in its winter pelage. I'd never seen a white snowshoe hare before, and soon I was doubling back to retrieve it. Though it appeared to be a fresh hit, it wasn't. The body had been entombed in the snowbank for some time: it was slightly squished, a little bit freeze-dried, and stuck to the ice upon which it rested.<br />
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The first thing that struck me, of course, was the color of the hare. I don't believe I've ever seen a white mammal in the wild before, and the fur seemed almost foreign or exotic, or like that of a domesticated animal. Its ears were small and rounded; its huge feet were covered in dense hair.<br />
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One problem I've had with photographing lagomorphs is that, overall, their bodies are very amorphous. They don't have toe pads or visible claws, their mouths are small (and frankly, kind of creepy), and their thick fur obscures the curves and angles of their musculature. For this snowshoe hare, I focused on the head and ears, as well as its large hind feet.<br />
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After I finished photographing the hare, I placed it on the riverbank as an offering for the neighborhood foxes. I feel very lucky to have seen this animal; its fur was so very clean against the dirty snowbanks, but I know that the snow that will fall tonight will be that same, bright white.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7288639382234722885.post-46681408130078129472014-02-28T20:57:00.000-05:002014-02-28T20:57:45.337-05:00Cruel WinterIt's the last evening of February. Despite the subzero daytime temperatures, two feet of frozen slush on the ground, and windchills that continue to dip into the negative thirties (degrees Fahrenheit), the animals continue to survive. The chickadees and nuthatches and goldfinches continue to visit the birdfeeder, even in the most foul of weather; the foxes continue their nightly prowls down the banks of the Chocolay River; the red squirrels continue to defend their territory from gray squirrels, all the while sniffing out potential mates.<br />
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It's incredible.<br />
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And it's sad and frustrating and endlessly upsetting to think that these animals can somehow make it through a winter so cruel, only to be abruptly ended by the treads of a tire.<br />
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Over the last few weeks, we'd noticed a pair of red squirrels expressing interest in one another — they'd chase each other through our backyard, but never in a threatening manner. We became hopeful that they'd produce offspring; red squirrels are great backyard companions, as they keep gray squirrels away and are enjoyable to watch. </div>
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A few days ago, as I was driving home from work, I came upon a red squirrel, hit in the road, just up the street. Whether or not it was one of "our" red squirrels remains to be seen. Still, it was upsetting to see this tiny animal — an animal that survives the winters here with such an inspirational ferocity — utterly destroyed by a car tire.</div>
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After photographing the red squirrel, I left it on the riverbank — hopefully it was discovered by one of the prowling neighborhood foxes, and was a good meal.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7288639382234722885.post-70657718809592801222014-01-26T13:46:00.004-05:002014-01-26T13:46:52.612-05:00Feeding the Foxes2013 was a rough year for the gray foxes living in our neighborhood. After the female gray fox was hit in December 2012, I worried for them; but in the spring, I saw a pair of fox tracks weaving through the freshly-fallen snow, and I had hope again. Over the summer, Steph and I spotted them often on our walks: usually pups, they crossed the path or trotted along it, regarding us with a wary curiosity. At one point, when heading home around midnight, we even caught a glimpse of what we're quite certain were two red foxes, walking calmly along the road.<br />
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All seemed well for the foxes of the neighborhood, until September hit — and within the span of a week, two fox pups were dead, both victims of traffic. We didn't see any foxes after that, but we did find evidence of their habits; in addition, we heard more about the elusive red foxes that lived down the street. When I put what remained of the doe out at the end of November, I hoped to provide the foxes — both red and gray — with good meat during what was already shaping up to be a ridiculously cold winter.<br />
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About a week or so ago, Steph and I looked outside and realized that everything <i>but </i>the deer's head was gone: the spinal column, the ribs, the pelvis — they had been stolen in the night, no doubt by the larger, stronger red foxes. It was incredible! I wondered where the bones would end up, and hoped their final resting place wouldn't be on someone's front lawn. The next morning, the doe's head was gone: the rope tied around her neck had been chewed through.<br />
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Desperate times call for desperate measures, and our neighborhood foxes — enduring what's been the coldest, snowiest winter in decades — were hungry. They still are.<br />
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A few days ago, I pulled a dead cottontail out of our freezer. It had been shot sometime in the autumn and given to us — and I figured that the foxes would rather like it if I left it out for them. Before I skinned the rabbit, I took a couple photos of it hanging.<br />
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Once skinned, I tied the cottontail securely, leaving it hanging above the ever-rising snow line. The foxes didn't visit last night, but as the temperature continues to hover around 0°F during the day and -10°F at night, I'm sure they will be stopping by soon.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7288639382234722885.post-71218949461578266212014-01-02T16:44:00.000-05:002014-01-02T16:44:05.483-05:00Another Year Down2013 wasn't a kind year — not for me, nor for Steph, nor for family and friends. It was an all-around unfortunate twelve months, a year that I am glad is now behind me. That said, there were some good things that happened, for which I am quite thankful. I tried new ideas with my photography, namely my <i><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/sets/72157633064295498/">Equinox to Equinox</a> </i>project, which involved taking (at least) one photograph every day between the Vernal and Autumnal equinoxes. It forced me to try different approaches with my photography, and it made me take pictures even when outdoor conditions were not ideal. Photography aside, 2013 was also a year of much-needed escapism in the form of comic books, cartoons, and movies. We made friends online, strengthened friendships in town, and began an odyssey of figuring out how to live with food allergies and chronic illness.<br />
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Several times, this project was placed on the back burner — limited funds for traveling, limited energy for hiking, limited motivation on account of depression. I'm not as happy with my photography from 2013; while I did improve, I had a lack of subjects due to the reasons mentioned above. It was frustrating, and the long winter and cold summer certainly didn't help. However, the year ended with the harvest and processing of a roadkill deer — something that has always been a dream of mine, and something that is in-line with the core values of this project. <br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/8366058276/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Gray Squirrel III by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Gray Squirrel III" height="312" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8183/8366058276_52d87b7710.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i>January 9 </i></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/8457651341/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Coyote Wanderings I by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Coyote Wanderings I" height="400" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8520/8457651341_8fc771893c.jpg" width="267" /> </a></div>
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<i>February 8 </i></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/8560791740/" title="Buck I by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Buck I" height="400" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8230/8560791740_f54028bcc4.jpg" width="276" /></a></div>
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<i>March 15</i></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/8679067828/" title="White-Footed Mouse by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="White-Footed Mouse" height="263" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8380/8679067828_bb8806139b.jpg" width="400" /></a><i>April 24</i></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/8729052953/" title="Curl by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Curl" height="282" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7327/8729052953_f676daf097.jpg" width="400" /></a><i>May 11</i></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9059750119/" title="Fish Bones by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Fish Bones" height="260" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2863/9059750119_c28447e7d8.jpg" width="400" /></a><i>June 15</i></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9281008722/" title="Goodbye by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Goodbye" height="269" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5468/9281008722_9685d827f5.jpg" width="400" /></a><i>July 13</i></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9509535773/" title="Sparrow Progress III by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Sparrow Progress III" height="400" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3682/9509535773_69832c43c1.jpg" width="325" /> </a></div>
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<i>August 14</i></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9706619828/" title="Trailside Pup VI by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Trailside Pup VI" height="260" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5332/9706619828_45ab172d30.jpg" width="400" /></a><i>September 8</i></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/10178693823/" title="Garter Snake, In-Hand III by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Garter Snake, In-Hand III" height="265" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3786/10178693823_f8268d0299.jpg" width="400" /></a><i>October 9</i></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/11124105986/" title="Black Friday III by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Black Friday III" height="400" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7408/11124105986_1a1886af9d.jpg" width="284" /> </a></div>
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<i>November 29</i></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/11671939674/" title="December 31, 2013 by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="December 31, 2013" height="400" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2855/11671939674_3cba018c16.jpg" width="269" /> </a></div>
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<i>December 31</i></div>
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So, what can I hope for in 2014? If there's one thing I want more than anything else, it's stability — in all aspects of life. I haven't set any goals yet, at least not for this project. All I can hope for is to get outside when I can, take photographs when I can, and when I'm not doing those things, take care of Steph and myself. 2014 <i>will </i>be a better year. I look forward to seeing what it will bring.
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7288639382234722885.post-1521468924083058012013-12-31T13:59:00.000-05:002013-12-31T14:03:20.096-05:00Doe FoodIt's been a month since I butchered the roadkill doe! It may have taken an entire day, but thanks to what I learned from some friends a few years ago, it was a relatively easy process. The most time-consuming part, it turns out, was grinding the meat — and since all we have is an <a href="http://www.goodmans.net/i/3612/universal-model-301-food-grinder-and-meat-grinder.htm?sc=GOOGLEBASE&k=UN-301&utm_source=GOOGLEBASE&utm_medium=datafeed&utm_campaign=UN-301&gclid=CLW71KKH27sCFSEV7AodH2cAvA">old universal hand grinder</a>, that step certainly took a while. By the end of the day, our freezer was packed: one shelf occupied by the blueberries, huckleberries, and raspberries picked over the summer, the second shelf occupied by roadkill venison.<br />
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The following day I took the carcass down from where it hung, then tied it at the base of a tree trunk, facing the riverbank. It didn't take long for the neighborhood wildlife to find it.<br />
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Shortly after I processed the deer, the temperature plummeted, and that's one reason I haven't updated until now. December, as a whole, has been ridiculously, uncharacteristically cold. For over a week, temperatures didn't climb higher than 0°F, and the Chocolay River froze — something that usually doesn't happen until late January or early February. (Another cold front has since moved in: this morning, it was -8°F when I woke up, and the river had <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/11671939674/">frozen over</a> once again.) <br />
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Extreme cold is rarely welcomed by animals, especially those that must eat meat to survive. I was very pleased, then, when I saw many fox tracks leading to and from the deer carcass. Over the last month, I have seen chickadees and nuthatches pecking away at the remaining meat; I've seen a domestic dog tearing at it more than once; I've seen a red squirrel perched upon the carcass. It's being enjoyed by a multitude of animals, especially the foxes, and that makes me very happy.<br />
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My parents traveled to Marquette for the holidays, and on Christmas Day my dad and I collaborated to make venison stew. It was the first time I'd eaten the meat from the deer that I had processed myself.<br />
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The resulting dish (venison with potatoes, onions, green beans, crimini mushrooms, parsnips, and rutabaga) was very good. The taste was far less "gamey" than the venison I'd been gifted by a co-worker, tasting much more like beef (or at least, how I remember the taste of beef). It was also very lean and tender. </div>
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Earlier today I braved the extreme cold and went out to check on the deer carcass. The snow around it was trampled by the feet of many animals, and a rather delightful surprise left behind were the wing-marks of small birds:</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/11672057816/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Evidence by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Evidence" height="500" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7406/11672057816_2e4b65458a.jpg" width="326" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/11671715664/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Whiskers by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Whiskers" height="500" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7318/11671715664_5175de3151.jpg" width="324" /> </a></div>
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In the coming weeks and months, many more beings will be fed by this doe. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7288639382234722885.post-2994152314608955562013-11-29T19:44:00.000-05:002013-11-29T19:44:42.320-05:00Black Friday<i>Note: This entry, while no more gruesome than </i>Useless Creatures' <i>usual fare, does contain photographs of a skinned, gutted deer as well as descriptions of the cleaning process.</i><br />
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Almost two weeks ago, I passed up the opportunity to call in <a href="http://jorieobrien.blogspot.com/2013/11/opening-weekend.html">a large buck</a> that had been freshly-hit along US 41. At the time, I was rather frustrated with myself for not picking it up, but I also realized that there was no way I could handle processing such a large, heavy animal. There would be other deer, I told myself, and sure enough, today proved as much.<br />
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This morning, Steph and I decided we'd take a drive down US 41 in search of hit deer. It being Black Friday, the highway would have had a higher traffic volume earlier — people seeking deals in town, perhaps driving great distances to get to those stores. Between shoppers and folks headed home after Thanksgiving dinner, the chances for a deer-car collision were higher than usual, and I thought it would be a good time to go scavenging.<br />
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We didn't have to drive far: only a quarter-mile in, I spotted a small deer on the side of the road. Steph and I exchanged a glance: <i>well, that was fast</i>.<br />
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The hoarfrost along the highway was brilliant. It coated the tree branches and bushes and the dead vegetation poking above the snow; the sun was shining and it made everything sparkle. The first thing I noticed about the deer was that her whiskers were encrusted in that same hoarfrost, glittering brilliantly.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/11124195374/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Black Friday I by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Black Friday I" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5546/11124195374_dd2925bd45.jpg" /> </a></div>
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A small, yearling doe, she'd been hit overnight. I decided immediately that I would call the police and ask for a tag. </div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/11124129806/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Black Friday II by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Black Friday II" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5472/11124129806_9fb0a3f47e.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/11124105986/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Black Friday III by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Black Friday III" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7408/11124105986_1a1886af9d.jpg" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/11124064465/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Black Friday IV by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Black Friday IV" height="288" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2880/11124064465_3e84de935a.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/11124218303/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Black Friday V by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Black Friday V" height="500" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5538/11124218303_42d9aa01b6.jpg" width="334" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/11124047726/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Black Friday VI by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Black Friday VI" height="400" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3759/11124047726_a56dd8a463.jpg" width="341" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/11124157633/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Black Friday VIII by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Black Friday VIII" height="500" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7436/11124157633_764fffc4ec.jpg" width="344" /></a></div>
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Visible in the snow were the doe's last tracks before she was struck:</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/11124072134/" title="Black Friday VII by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Black Friday VII" height="500" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2846/11124072134_45227a0f12.jpg" width="312" /></a>
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It was a bit of a wait. First one state police officer arrived; he was young and very friendly, and we chatted a bit while waiting for his partner to show up with the tags. I told him that I'd eaten venison for the first time in 15 years the night before, for Thanksgiving (the meat was a gift from a co-worker); he seemed impressed that I intended to clean and butcher the deer myself. As we waited, two different men pulled over, both hoping that I had hit the deer and didn't want it. "They're like vultures," said the state trooper.</div>
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Complicating the matter further, it was discovered that the deer was shot, in or near the head. There was no record of this happening, so the policemen had to notify the conservation office. The collision had broken the doe's front leg (as well as the driver's headlight); even if it wasn't initially reported, I'm glad the driver took the initiative to put the deer out of her misery.</div>
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Finally, after signing some papers, we loaded the doe into the back of the Subaru. Then the <i>real </i>fun began.</div>
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After dragging the doe into the backyard, I began cutting her open. Out popped her stomach and intestines, and then I asked myself <i>what on earth do I do next?</i> I called up our neighbor Clyde from down the street; a few days prior, he'd picked up a roadkill doe of his own (weighing in at 140 pounds!), and I asked him if he could give me a hand. Together we set up a pulley on one of our trees, and hoisted up the doe. Clyde then told me what to do next, and under his directions, I was able to complete the gutting process.</div>
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It was a lot like the dream I described in my previous post. I was elbow-deep in the deer's body, cutting away the diaphragm, working my fingers past the warm slickness of her heart and lungs, and then — <i>pulling</i>. The organs slopped out into a pile, glistening and colorful. I thanked Clyde for his help, then took more photographs.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/11124057923/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Black Friday X by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Black Friday X" height="500" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3810/11124057923_e760629aa1.jpg" width="307" /></a></div>
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The tag, I was told, was to be kept on the body until the butchering process. </div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/11123874574/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Black Friday XIV by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Black Friday XIV" height="500" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2814/11123874574_7651aa36eb.jpg" width="352" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/11123810456/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Black Friday XV by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Black Friday XV" height="255" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2835/11123810456_3205a6035e.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/11124038413/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Black Friday XI by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Black Friday XI" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2829/11124038413_62f071ecf3.jpg" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/11123978934/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Black Friday XIII by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Black Friday XIII" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5543/11123978934_11f306f913.jpg" /> </a></div>
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Next came the skinning process. It was incredibly easy, and I'm not sure I've ever skinned an animal so quickly.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/11123933183/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Black Friday XVI by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Black Friday XVI" height="500" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2857/11123933183_4acf0d5651.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Without her thick winter coat, the doe suddenly appeared much tinier. While skinning her, I discovered that she had been shot not in the head, but in the neck, the crumpled bullet still lodged in her muscle.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/11123882733/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Black Friday XVIII by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Black Friday XVIII" height="500" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3818/11123882733_3019f45bcc.jpg" width="361" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/11123853533/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Black Friday XIX by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Black Friday XIX" height="245" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5484/11123853533_fb5afac867.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/11123806603/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Black Friday XXI by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Black Friday XXI" height="500" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7404/11123806603_1f48f244b6.jpg" width="340" /></a></div>
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Tomorrow I will embark upon the task of butchering the doe. Because she was so young when she died, and because the collision only damaged her front leg, her meat should be very good. I went to the local grocery store to pick up some freezer bags and freezer paper; upon greeting the cashier, he said with a smile, "Someone shot a deer." I told him that I'd actually picked it up off the side of the road, to which he replied, "Ah, I've cooked many a roadkill deer."</div>
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This afternoon, after the doe had been gutted and skinned, I happened to glance out our front window — just in time to see two deer bound across the road, their white tails flagging as they jumped. They were gone within seconds.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7288639382234722885.post-40590745871019703312013-11-16T14:43:00.000-05:002013-11-16T14:43:12.098-05:00Opening WeekendFriday marked the opening day of Michigan's deer firearm season. It's an occasion treated as a holiday by many; some hunters take the day off, if it's a workday, leaving their desk behind for a blind or tree stand. Blaze-orange hats grace the dashboard of many a vehicle, bars hang up their "WELCOME, HUNTERS!" banners, and gas stations sell large bags of carrots and apples and beets. Talk in the coffee shop, workplace, and grocery store ultimately revolves around hunting and venison recipes; local taxidermists advertise themselves with a renewed fervor, anticipating a flood of trophy mounts. It's an exciting time to be a hunter, a dangerous time to be a deer, and a fascinating time to be observing, from the sidelines.<br />
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It's during this time of year that roadkill deer become more conspicuous to me: while their kin are being felled by bullets, these deer are victim to cars. Sometimes they are retrieved, spared from a public decomposition alongside the highway; others are not. A freezer's worth of meat goes to waste, as often these deer die in so busy a place that not even the crows or coyotes will risk scavenging the carcass.<br />
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Last night, I dreamt I found a dead buck alongside the highway. He was a fresh hit, still warm, and I gutted him on the spot. It was a visceral, vivid dream, and when I woke up, I could still feel the hot sliminess of his internal organs sliding along my hands and forearms. <br />
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It was a warmish morning, with temperatures hovering around 40°F, and Steph and I took a drive south down US 41. The highway was clear, and after fifteen miles, the only roadkill critter we'd seen had been a skunk, dead on the center line. We turned around, heading back home, and that's when I spotted a dead deer in the ditch — it had somehow evaded my sight on our first pass. We turned around and parked to get a closer look.<br />
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It was a buck: neck swollen, hooves large, tarsal glands dark. Both his antlers had been snapped off during the impact — one laid several feet away, broken mid-beam, strong bone splintered.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/10887821426/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Opening Weekend I by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Opening Weekend I" height="275" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2890/10887821426_3cd5be6c79.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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A section of his back had been ripped open, exposing the meat and fat beneath the skin — a hind leg was twisted unnaturally — a sheen of blood lined his nostrils. The buck smelled of the rut, a strong, heady odor that permeated the immediate vicinity of his roadside deathbed. His face was calm.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/10888280923/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Opening Weekend III by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Opening Weekend III" height="400" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5539/10888280923_41983c1992.jpg" width="293" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/10888171694/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Opening Weekend II by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Opening Weekend II" height="219" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7310/10888171694_eb4c226987.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/10887965006/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Opening Weekend IV by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Opening Weekend IV" height="260" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7441/10887965006_fa30d5cebd.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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He was also fresh. I wanted desperately to call him in — to be issued a tag — to take him home and butcher him. In retrospect, I could have, and I should have — and I would have, had I possessed more confidence in the whole thing. There will always be more roadkill deer, I tell myself, and it's true. </div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/10887926266/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Opening Weekend V by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Opening Weekend V" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3706/10887926266_a5261b72fc.jpg" /> </a></div>
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I kept the broken antler. It smells of the buck's final habits while still alive: rubbing against a spruce tree. It's an intimate view of a life no longer living.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7288639382234722885.post-52441092522781636822013-10-19T21:39:00.000-04:002013-10-19T21:39:42.334-04:00From The Collection: This Year's BuckBack in mid-March of this year, <a href="http://jorieobrien.blogspot.com/2013/03/a-dead-animal-sampler.html">I found the body of a dead buck in Ann Arbor, at the Matthaei Botanical Gardens</a>. I cut off the head, took it back to Marquette, and left it outside. For the next month, <a href="http://jorieobrien.blogspot.com/2013/04/cold-decay.html">it went untouched</a>, until finally in late April the weather was warm enough for the flies. <a href="http://jorieobrien.blogspot.com/2013/04/fly-portraits.html">And boy, did they ever arrive!</a> By May, despite the cool temperatures, the buck's head was coming along quite well, <a href="http://jorieobrien.blogspot.com/2013/05/buggy-buck.html">playing host to a swarm of maggots</a>. In June and July, the maggots pupated and emerged as adult flies, and decomposition began to slow. By late July, I was ready for the skull to be finished. Into a bucket of water it went, for the purpose of maceration. The skull soaked for a couple of weeks, and with the help of a pair of pliers, I was able to remove the last of the tissue. For another week or two, I degreased the skull, submerging it in a solution of water and dishsoap; finally, I whitened it in a peroxide bath.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9587958456">By August 24, the buck skull was finished</a>. Over five months had passed since I'd found the buck and removed its head. The result, I think, was well-worth the wait.<br />
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The antlers on this skull are pretty incredible. Three of the tines on the right side are broken — no doubt from clashes during the rut. The tines on the left antler are all intact, and the length of the eyeguard and especially the G2 are rather impressive. </div>
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When viewed from the front, the skull is pretty lopsided! I've got to wonder who this buck was battling, and just how big his opponent's antlers were.</div>
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<br />One thing I really love about this skull is the base of the right antler. There are all sorts of bizarre spurs and points coming out of it, as well as a bit of webbing between the main beam and eyeguard. The amount of beading on the antlers is pretty noteworthy, as well — they're very bumpy.</div>
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When this buck died, he was getting ready to shed his antlers: the pedicles on both sides were deteriorating, the bone weakening. His death halted that process, but the evidence remains.</div>
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Another cool thing about this skull is the evidence of coyotes! Before I found the body, it had been dragged and eviscerated by scavenging coyotes. They left their mark, quite literally, on several of the buck's tines: teeth marks! </div>
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Back in <a href="http://jorieobrien.blogspot.com/2011/03/buck-beneath-cedar-tree.html">March of 2011, I found a dead buck at Matthaei</a>, not too far from where I found this one. It's interesting to compare their skulls, side-by-side.</div>
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Judging by the wear on their teeth, there isn't much of an age difference between the March 2011 buck and the March 2013 buck. The difference in the size and strength of their antlers doesn't denote age — it simply denotes a difference in genes. It's safe to say that this year's buck had a much more impressive set of genes, and I sincerely hope he passed them along before his death.</div>
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Back in 1998, a four-point buck was hit across the road from the Matthaei Botanical Gardens. I have a very vivid memory of my mother cutting the head from the carcass; over the next several months, the skull was decomposed by backyard insects. I still have that skull in my possession, and it was a real treat to compare it to the 2011 and 2013 bucks:</div>
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On the topic of good genes, the 1998 buck certainly had them. He was quite young when he died — his teeth were still growing in — but his antlers were impressive, even for a four-pointer. The base of his antlers are quite remarkable, and are reminiscent of those of the 2013 buck. It's not too far-fetched to think that somehow, they might be related.</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7288639382234722885.post-67624238979479211742013-10-10T22:30:00.001-04:002013-10-10T22:30:59.040-04:00BaskingIt's nearly mid-October, and here in the Upper Peninsula, that means the warm weather is coming to an end. The leaves are at their peak colors, the plants on the forest floor are senescing, and every day the sun rises later and sets earlier. There's a distinct chill in the air, especially in the mornings and evenings, and everything smells of fallen leaves and pine needles.<br />
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The last few days have been blessedly warm and sunny, and the cold-blooded animals — the reptiles and amphibians and terrestrial arthropods — have been taking advantage of the heat. The meadowhawks — the dragonflies of late summer and early fall — have been as active as ever, hovering from one perch to the next, obelisking toward the sun. There has been a resurgence of blackflies; ladybugs and leaf-footed bugs have started to gather in our house, staking out places to hibernate for the winter.<br />
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The sunlight is especially welcomed by reptiles, who must bask for warmth. In a few weeks' time, the snakes and lizards and turtles will hide themselves away — but until then, they are soaking up as much sunlight as they can. Prime places for basking are exposed rocks, dry earth, and, sadly, hot pavement. As alluring as warm roads and sidewalks are, they become a death trap for reptiles, especially snakes, who are seeking heat.<br />
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Yesterday afternoon was brilliantly sunny: the leaves of the maples seemed to glow, and the air smelled of Autumn. We took a short hike in the Forestville Basin area, and on our way back to the car, I remarked that it was a good day to look for basking snakes. Not long after, I spotted a flash of black and green along the side of the road — and my heart jumped at the prospect of seeing (and maybe even holding!) a garter snake.<br />
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It was so lifelike — its colors were so very bright — and then I realized that it was dead.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/10178628184/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Garter Snake I by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Garter Snake I" height="200" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7321/10178628184_c2c5f96738.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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The garter snake had only just been hit; its wound was tiny and the body was otherwise intact. Its eyes still shone with the intensity of a live animal; the color of its scales was incredibly vivid. </div>
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As I started to photograph the snake, it occurred to me that it looked anything but dead. Without any firsthand context, someone viewing the pictures would likely assume that it was still alive. My first course of action, then, was to flip the snake upside-down.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/10178616294/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Garter Snake II by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Garter Snake II" height="247" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3731/10178616294_bb0cff5805.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/10178765396/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Garter Snake III by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Garter Snake III" height="500" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3693/10178765396_7865daf9a5.jpg" width="317" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/10178797583/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Garter Snake IV by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Garter Snake IV" height="244" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5525/10178797583_350e45cc92.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
I couldn't resist holding the snake; having only just died, it was still extremely flexible, and its scales were so silky and soft.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/10178559394/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Garter Snake, In-Hand I by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Garter Snake, In-Hand I" height="500" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5532/10178559394_1815e785b3.jpg" width="326" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/10178541344/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Garter Snake, In-Hand II by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Garter Snake, In-Hand II" height="260" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3745/10178541344_7d100e0e97.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/10178693823/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Garter Snake, In-Hand III by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Garter Snake, In-Hand III" height="265" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3786/10178693823_f8268d0299.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
I find the photographs of it in my hand to be my favorite; the first, especially, is ambiguous to the snake's state of death.<br />
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After photographing the snake extensively, I moved it off the road, setting it in a neat coil in the underbrush, then gave it an offering of sema. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7288639382234722885.post-77693417668491944912013-09-14T21:19:00.000-04:002013-09-14T21:42:19.914-04:00Chocolay FoxesThe crows were unusually loud this morning; we hear them often, especially this time of year — but today they were excited, their vocalizations clamorous and close by. I didn't think much of it until early this afternoon, when one of our neighbors stopped by to tell us there was a dead fox alongside the road. "<i>Again?</i>" I demanded, mostly out of exasperation. Last weekend's fox pup had been enough; I wasn't happy about the prospect of yet another deceased fox.<br />
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But sure enough, just a hundred feet or so down the road from our house, there it was — a gray fox pup stretched out in the grass, its entrails strung out behind it, already blackened by the heat of the sun. Flies had arrived on the scene, but so had several dozen yellow jackets. The wasps crowded themselves onto the exposed flesh and viscera, their jaws tearing away at the muscle, and it was a decidedly disturbing spectacle.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9741523791/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Yellowjackets I by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Yellowjackets I" height="326" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7422/9741523791_226c50a22c.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The loud cawing and croaking we'd heard this morning was explained, as well: the scavenging crows had left several feathers behind. As for the fox, unlike the one I photographed last Sunday, this one had been killed on the spot: its belly had burst open and its jaw was smashed, culminating in a grisly stain on the pavement. </div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9741573983/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Second Fox Pup I by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Second Fox Pup I" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7354/9741573983_7910a117ed.jpg" /> </a></div>
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Dew still clung to the soft summer fur.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9741573989/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Second Fox Pup II by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Second Fox Pup II" height="268" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7455/9741573989_34a0dcd5c0.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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Not only had the fox's jaw been smashed, but it had also been skinned down to the bone. The scrape of the pavement had torn away the gums and flesh; it was a bizarre, haunting sight.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9741574111/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Second Fox Pup III by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Second Fox Pup III" height="258" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7455/9741574111_cd492f5756.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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This fox, too, was still in the process of growing its set of adult teeth — but it was much further along than last week's fox. I don't believe they were in the same litter.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9741574875/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Second Fox Pup IV by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Second Fox Pup IV" height="262" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7341/9741574875_312aea3c54.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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As I said in my last entry, I hate to see dead foxes. This is the time of year when young animals are becoming independent; as a result, many are hit on the road — skunks, raccoons, and foxes alike. It's a waste of life, and it's a reminder to slow down when you're driving. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7288639382234722885.post-39173630552877238942013-09-08T21:36:00.000-04:002013-09-08T21:36:30.920-04:00Blue EyesThis afternoon, some friends found a dead fox along the neighborhood bike path we so often frequent. They quickly let us know, and Steph and I walked out to meet them there. Just past a stand of bracken ferns, resting upon bearberry and reindeer lichen and star moss, was a gray fox pup. The body had been there for at least a day: raindrops clung to its woolly summer fur — the abdomen was bloated — the visible eye was a ghostly, nearly luminescent blue.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9706646034/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Trailside Pup IV by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Trailside Pup IV" height="500" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2840/9706646034_3a55371c6e.jpg" width="360" /> </a></div>
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Gray foxes are abundant in our area. After the <a href="http://jorieobrien.blogspot.com/2012/12/neighborhood-gray-fox.html">death of the gray fox last December</a>, I was afraid they'd be gone from the neighborhood for good, but thankfully that was not the case. In March we saw two sets of fox tracks, their paths crossing — Steph and I began finding fox scat in our driveway and later on the bike path — and then, this summer, we'd see them, both adults and pups, crossing that same path. Sometimes they paid us no heed; other times, they'd stop and stare, and we'd stop and stare right back at them.</div>
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This pup, likely one of the handful we observed this summer, died along the path.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9706660684/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Trailside Pup III by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Trailside Pup III" height="500" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3736/9706660684_1191c767a4.jpg" width="336" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9703438613/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Trailside Pup II by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Trailside Pup II" height="500" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3687/9703438613_356c3fb919.jpg" width="344" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9703398803/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Trailside Pup V by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Trailside Pup V" height="500" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3829/9703398803_f3df2acc99.jpg" width="332" /></a></div>
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At first glance, no visible injuries appeared to be on the body, and the fox looked to have been in good health when she died. Her adult canines were just starting to poke through her gums; her claws were sharp, her fur — though the scraggly summer pelage — was still full and soft. I turned the body over, and it became apparent that the pup's pelvis was smashed, probably by the tire of a car. It's quite possible — and most likely — that she was hit on Main Street, not far from where the gray fox was hit last year. This pup dragged herself away from the road in what must have been an agonizing ordeal, only to collapse and die, several feet from the trail.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9706619828/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Trailside Pup VI by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Trailside Pup VI" height="260" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5332/9706619828_45ab172d30.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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I hate to see foxes dead. They're a beautiful, fascinating, important part of the ecosystem, and it's heartbreaking to see their lives ended by the tire of a too-fast car. I am thankful, however, to have the opportunity to observe them — both in life and in death.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7288639382234722885.post-70267333006657197242013-08-14T16:36:00.000-04:002013-08-14T16:36:23.910-04:00Down to the BonesFour days have passed since I found the dead song sparrow fledgling in our backyard. In that short time, the body has been reduced to a sticky pile of bones and feathers — not by beetles or flies, but by slugs and, primarily, ants. <br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9509527761/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Sparrow Progress I by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Sparrow Progress I" height="289" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2888/9509527761_ef434cd42c.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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Yesterday, I was able to get a pretty good view of the puncture through the top of the bird's skull. Whether it was by beak or canine, the predator had little trouble piercing the fledgling's thin, delicate bone. </div>
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Today, the ants were still numerous, and busied themselves with picking away at every bit of food possible. One of the sparrow's legs had been separated from the rest of its body, and one ant in particular was making quite the show of gnawing away at it:</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9509544395/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Sparrow Progress II by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Sparrow Progress II" height="248" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3794/9509544395_3435005b78.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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It was really quite fascinating to watch this individual working away at the leg. All but one of the toes had already been removed.</div>
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Also interesting to see was the interaction and communication between various ants. </div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9509535773/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Sparrow Progress III by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Sparrow Progress III" height="500" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3682/9509535773_69832c43c1.jpg" width="407" /> </a></div>
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I don't know an awful lot about ant hierarchy, but it was pretty obvious which ones were dominant. Physical communication comprised of jaw- and antennae-touching, pushing, and chasing. I was lucky to get a few of these confrontations on video:</div>
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I made one other unexpected observation this afternoon: while taking another look at what remained of the sparrow, I saw the soil beneath it suddenly start to heave. This could only mean one thing: burying beetles! I looked beneath the carcass, and sure enough, there was a lone burying beetle (crawling with mites, of course) — likely <i>Nicrophorus tomentosus</i>, as its thorax was covered in yellow hair. This was a different burying beetle species for our yard, as previously I've only seen <i>Nicrophorus orbicollis</i>.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7288639382234722885.post-55339597469138551372013-08-12T22:23:00.000-04:002013-08-12T22:23:55.140-04:00Teamwork!Here's a quick update on the status of the <a href="http://jorieobrien.blogspot.com/2013/08/fledgling-food.html">song sparrow fledgling</a> I wrote about yesterday! I took a look at the bird this evening — it was covered in ants and several large slugs, and the body was reduced to little more than a pile of feathers and bones:<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9499891506/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Teamwork I by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Teamwork I" height="241" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5498/9499891506_b3324e8384.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9499875556/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Teamwork II by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Teamwork II" height="264" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2856/9499875556_68ca141f54.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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Closer inspection of the skull revealed a puncture in the top of the cranium — perhaps from a canine tooth, or maybe from a sharp beak! We'll never know for sure.</div>
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This was an interesting process to witness, and it was certainly much different than the burying beetles' disposal of the robin. It was a surprise to see the ants and slugs working side-by-side, and as far as I could tell, they seemed to tolerate one another's presence. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7288639382234722885.post-51428361826041248842013-08-11T22:47:00.000-04:002013-08-11T22:47:01.605-04:00Fledgling FoodYesterday, while doing some garden-tending the backyard, I found a dead sparrow fledgling at the base of a pine tree. A few ants and a fly had arrived, but other than that, there wasn't yet much of an insect presence.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9479645731/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Fledgling I by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Fledgling I" height="311" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7385/9479645731_31165d2aa0.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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I was immediately struck by how small the tail was compared to the rest of the body. At the same time, its legs and feet were disproportionately large —a tell-tale sign of a young bird. There was a bit of a gape remaining at the corners of its beak and its feathers were mismatched, as they'd still been growing in at the time of the bird's death. The down was very soft, almost fur-like.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9482426714/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Fledgling II by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Fledgling II" height="253" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3691/9482426714_38babaf6c9.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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One wing was missing, as was most of the inside of the bird. I'm unsure of what killed this sparrow; it's easy to blame the cats that wander our street and backyard, as they've brought down birds on our property before, but I have a hunch it wasn't a cat that did this. The raccoons and foxes have been quite active in our area as of late, and one of them could very well have been the culprit, too. </div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9479620465/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Fledgling III by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Fledgling III" height="252" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7409/9479620465_6d1d6f2ee8.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9482397576/" title="Fledgling IV by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Fledgling IV" height="500" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5479/9482397576_665e034068.jpg" width="339" /> </a></div>
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I'm not quite certain what species of sparrow this was. With fledglings, it can be especially difficult to tell sparrows apart, but I'm leaning toward song sparrow<i> </i>(<i>Melospiza melodia</i>). </div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9482384498/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Fledgling V by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Fledgling V" height="260" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7378/9482384498_dc90f13b36.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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After I finished photographing it, I left the body near where the robin was <a href="http://jorieobrien.blogspot.com/2013/07/a-burying-beetle-burial.html">entombed by burying beetles last month</a>. This evening, I paid a visit, only to find that an entirely different insect was busy attending to the corpse:</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9488808395/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Feed by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Feed" height="254" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3795/9488808395_8e61b08034.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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Ants! Several dozen large ants were chewing away at the sparrow, carrying away bits of flesh. The head of the bird was nearly reduced to just the skull; no fly eggs were to be seen. In this case, the body belonged to the ants — not the beetles, nor the flies. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7288639382234722885.post-83748857317659364212013-07-24T10:05:00.000-04:002013-07-24T10:05:08.302-04:00Tiny CreaturesThere are animals so small you'd never know they were there. Despite being active both day and night, they are secretive and silent — and there's a good chance they might be living in your own backyard! I'm not referring to insects, or some other sort of invertebrate — I'm talking about shrews! There are several species of shrew in North America; we've already met one of them here, <i>Blarina brevicauda</i>, the <a href="http://jorieobrien.blogspot.com/2012/02/insectivore.html">Northern Short-tailed Shrew</a>. As far as mammals go, the short-tailed shrew is pretty small — but there's a shrew even smaller, if you can believe it.<br />
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The Masked Shrew (<i>Sorex cinereus</i>) is widespread throughout the northern United States and most of Canada. As an opportunistic eater, it preys upon anything from worms and insects to seeds — even salamanders, frogs, and small rodents. A critter with a very high rate of metabolism, the masked shrew must eat constantly, and will consume three times its weight in a single day!<br />
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As far as mammals go, it's also <i>incredibly </i>tiny.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9352102607/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Masked Shrew, in-hand by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Masked Shrew, in-hand" height="500" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7371/9352102607_e9af2cf60c.jpg" width="354" /> </a></div>
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Much like last spring's <a href="http://jorieobrien.blogspot.com/2012/05/star-nosed-mole.html">star-nosed mole</a>, this masked shrew was found dead on the bike path that runs past our house. It's very likely that a predator caught and killed it, only to be repulsed by its scent. With a body length of only 3.5 inches — and that's including the tail — this shrew was one of the smallest (vertebrate) animals I've photographed.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9354901444/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Masked Shrew I by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Masked Shrew I" height="500" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2843/9354901444_987ea3edf6.jpg" width="319" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9354891724/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Masked Shrew II by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Masked Shrew II" height="257" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5450/9354891724_3e1911a889.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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It's hard to believe that this tiny creature shares the same organs and
skeletal structure as us! It's also amazing that this shrew — so
miniscule and delicate, needing to eat almost constantly to survive — can weather the cold, harsh winters of the
Upper Peninsula. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7288639382234722885.post-32189630449075279432013-07-13T21:05:00.000-04:002013-07-13T21:05:20.033-04:00How To Say GoodbyeOne of the defining moments of becoming an adult, in my opinion, is experiencing the death of a favorite family pet — one with whom you've shared most of your life. It's that puppy or kitten you grew up beside as a child, confided your secrets to as a teenager, and left behind, temporarily, when you ventured off to college — only to enjoy tearful reunions during holiday breaks. The sudden absence of a being that's always been there for you and with you, through your best and worst of times, is a heart wrenching, helpless feeling — and it's a feeling to which I think most of us can relate.<br />
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I have seen the deaths of a number of family pets, cats and dogs alike, but none felt quite like the passing of Kosh, a calico cat we adopted as a kitten in June of 1998. She was my best friend throughout most of my childhood and teenage years — and she was truly <i>my cat</i>. Kosh died this March, at the age of 15. When she passed, I felt that last remaining pieces of my childhood pass, as well.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/8323595134/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Kosh by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Kosh" height="308" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8499/8323595134_f2485e2408.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>December 2012</i></td></tr>
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How do you say goodbye to a pet whom you've known and loved since the age of ten? How do you cope? How do you move on?<i> Can </i>you truly move on?<br />
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Today, finally, we buried Kosh. It's hard to describe the initial, visceral feeling of seeing her small body, wedged into a cardboard box, frozen in time and position. The last time I'd seen her, in December of 2012, she'd been alive — slow, of course, and not as steady on her feet as she'd been a few years prior — but she'd been alive and loving and sassy as always. It's a horrible feeling, that final, awful realization that your friend of fifteen years — the cat who let you carry her upside-down — the cat that slept beside you every night — the cat that loved to bask outside, in the garden —is, indeed, dead.<br />
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The body was cold, stuck in an unnatural position. Freezer burn had nipped the tips of those tiny, pink toes. The fur was thicker and more lustrous than I'd remembered. The ears had thawed quickly, and were pliable and soft. I spent several minutes just petting her fur and crying — running my fingers through that coat, touching the tips of those ears and feeling those toe pads.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9281008722/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Goodbye by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Goodbye" height="269" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5468/9281008722_9685d827f5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9280997706/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Goodbye by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Goodbye" height="266" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7348/9280997706_800da40d4b.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9281003210/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Goodbye by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Goodbye" height="263" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3716/9281003210_deb7604e4e.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9280992228/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Goodbye by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Goodbye" height="260" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3699/9280992228_27c14da4eb.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
And then I took photographs. I've handled and photographed frozen animals a countless number of times before; it's always been an awkward process but in most cases never an emotional one. This, though, was an exception. Unlike anonymous roadkill, it was incredibly hard to photograph this cat — <i>my cat </i>— having known her and loved her and cared for her.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9278246323/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Goodbye by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Goodbye" height="400" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3735/9278246323_c289b89c4b.jpg" width="329" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9281027228/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Goodbye by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Goodbye" height="400" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5539/9281027228_820480466a.jpg" width="259" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9278239217/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Goodbye by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Goodbye" height="272" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3763/9278239217_2e8f7b63bd.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9278234615/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Goodbye by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Goodbye" height="400" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7344/9278234615_ee9bdfb9ce.jpg" width="276" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9281013872/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Goodbye by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Goodbye" height="400" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5448/9281013872_8a6522cbdd.jpg" width="250" /></a></div>
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At last the time came to bury her. I tucked catnip and flowers from my mother's garden around her body. As the first shovelful of dirt fell over that glossy, soft fur, it was like a punch to the gut: there was a <i>finality </i>to it, and it <i>hurt</i>. Going into the ground was Kosh, an important part of fifteen years of my life — a strange cat, an amazing cat, a beautiful cat.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9280982454/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Goodbye by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Goodbye" height="276" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7340/9280982454_3b9870e9d1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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In time she will become that ground, in the backyard where she sought patches of sun and solitude.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Kosh" height="500" src="http://farm1.staticflickr.com/231/490461937_385ffbe85f.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="331" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>May 2007</i></td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7288639382234722885.post-10517017530041068232013-07-06T13:07:00.000-04:002013-07-06T13:07:09.440-04:00A Burying Beetle BurialWhen I finished photographing the <a href="http://jorieobrien.blogspot.com/2013/07/independence-day-observations.html">robin on Independence Day</a>, I figured the body would have disappeared by the following morning — with scavenging raccoons and foxes visiting our backyard, corpses don't have the tendency to hang around for long. Imagine my surprise, then, when I found the robin was not only where I left it — but it was half-buried!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9217476251/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Robin, 10:48 AM by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Robin, 10:48 AM" height="288" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2878/9217476251_f950cf118d.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>July 5, 10:48 AM</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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This was, of course, the work of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nicrophorus_orbicollis">burying beetles</a>. I've read about them at length, and Bernd Heinrich dedicates an entire chapter to them in his book <i><a href="http://jorieobrien.blogspot.com/2012/09/book-review-bernd-heinrichs-life.html">Life Everlasting: The Animal Way of Death</a>. </i>Despite spotting these beetles on numerous occasions — most notably, <a href="http://jorieobrien.blogspot.com/2012/07/beetles-on-snake.html">on the corpse of a red-bellied snake last summer</a> — until now I'd never actually seen them in action, burying a body. I decided I'd periodically check throughout the day, to watch their progress. I was not disappointed!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9217513243/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Robin, 1:57 PM by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Robin, 1:57 PM" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2872/9217513243_e29ee3c9bc.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>July 5, 1:57 PM</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9220264808/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Robin, 7:34 PM by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Robin, 7:34 PM" height="400" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5481/9220264808_1e888962c7.jpg" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>July 5, 7:34 PM</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9223526312/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Robin, 8:08 AM by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Robin, 8:08 AM" height="400" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5460/9223526312_15cb61d9bf.jpg" width="292" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>July 6, 8:08 AM</i></td></tr>
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By this morning, all that remained above ground was the tip of a wing and the tip of the tail. Everything else had been swallowed by the earth! This was incredible to observe, and I can only imagine the confusion of someone seeing this for the first time and not having a clue of what was happening. By all accounts, the body of the robin disappeared into the soil, and frankly, it's both pretty cool and pretty creepy.<br />
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I took a video of the scene at 10:47 AM on July 5: dappled sunlight moves over the half-buried robin, while flies continue to investigate the carcass:<br />
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Later in the day, at 7:39 PM, I filmed another set of videos. The earth around the robin was literally moving with the activity of the burying beetles! Soil heaved, and the bird itself seemed to shudder and sigh. <br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7288639382234722885.post-76803375138169346602013-07-04T16:28:00.000-04:002013-07-04T16:28:37.908-04:00Independence Day ObservationsWhen I find a dead animal, one of my favorite things to do, if I'm able, is to just <i>sit and watch</i>. This isn't always possible, especially when a subject is on the side of the road or in a very public area — but if it's in the middle of the woods, or in my backyard, the seclusion lends itself well to tranquil observation.<br />
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This afternoon, while doing yardwork, I found a dead robin. It was sprawled in the grass, face-down, wings spread. The body was quite the distance from any windows, and there was no sign of predation: the breast feathers were intact, which isn't often the case when a bird is taken down by a cat or other animal.<br />
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I moved the robin to the shade and began to photograph it; the eyes were sunken and the flies and ants had found the body before me. <br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9208415371/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Robin III by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Robin III" height="500" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3746/9208415371_80fcc91d2a.jpg" width="324" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9208333325/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Robin II by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Robin II" height="248" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3666/9208333325_59cfed082c.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9208429643/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Robin I by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Robin I" height="500" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7350/9208429643_9c292c78f8.jpg" width="328" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9211182046/" title="Robin IV by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Robin IV" height="240" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5468/9211182046_c616e86d75.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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At this point, I decided to simply start <i>watching</i>. The blue- and green-bottle flies returned, landing on primaries and down; some laid eggs, others sampled the surface. Ants large and small wove their way through the feathery fluff. </div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9208388697/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Robin V by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Robin V" height="252" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2825/9208388697_a5d7ab9790.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9211144632/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Robin VII by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Robin VII" height="219" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7313/9211144632_f518b0fc0e.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9211156976/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Robin VI by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Robin VI" height="220" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5509/9211156976_e03bc35d36.jpg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9211131372/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Robin VIII by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Robin VIII" height="339" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2814/9211131372_2a933c2afb.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
There's something wonderfully peaceful about sitting next to a dead animal and watching the world go by. The corpse is still, but everything moves around it: flies buzz, ants crawl, birds warble in the trees above. For nearly 45 minutes, I photographed and observed this robin; I felt the sun on my back, the mosquitoes on my arms, and the pine needles beneath my crossed legs. I began to take videos of the flies on the body, and in a nearby jack pine, a robin started to sing.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7288639382234722885.post-18270024807194856662013-06-21T17:24:00.000-04:002013-06-21T17:24:15.445-04:00SolsticeIt's the first day of summer — but looking outside, here in Marquette, you sure wouldn't realize it. It's been a cloudy, rainy, foggy sort of day, and will be for the rest of the week. With the unusually cool weather, blossoms have held onto the trees longer: the lilacs are still flowering, and they looked (and smelled!) quite beautiful this afternoon.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9101556561/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Lilacs II by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Lilacs II" height="200" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2862/9101556561_b92dc532e4.jpg" width="136" /></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9103797212/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Lilacs I by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Lilacs I" height="200" src="http://l2.yimg.com/sj/2831/9103797212_249f2abdac.jpg" width="132" /></a></div>
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After taking a short walk along the beach at McCarty's Cove, Steph and I spotted a dead bird on the wet sidewalk. At first glance we thought it was a young starling, but upon closer inspection, we realized it was a grackle fledgling.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9103773806/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Fledgling I by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Fledgling I" height="287" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7413/9103773806_e0d9b0bc25.jpg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9101579463/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Fledgling II by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Fledgling II" height="277" src="http://l2.yimg.com/sj/2874/9101579463_d8568e0e52.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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The survival rate for young birds is low. Hatchlings are fragile beings: passerines emerge from their eggs blind, naked, and helpless. At that stage, when they're still bound to the nest, baby birds are a favorite food of crows and blue jays, as well as squirrels. Fledglings, having made it that far, are at an awkward stage of development: flight feathers have not yet fully erupted, and coordination is still limited. They, too, are easy prey. </div>
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It's hard to say what happened to this young grackle. After photographing it, I moved the body off the sidewalk and left it in the shelter of the blooming, fragrant lilacs.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7288639382234722885.post-60230475920625531052013-06-18T15:00:00.000-04:002013-06-18T15:00:35.039-04:00Drummond IslandOver the weekend, the <a href="http://insects.ummz.lsa.umich.edu/MES/">Michigan Entomological Society</a> held its annual meeting on Drummond Island. Situated about a mile from the easternmost tip of the Upper Peninsula, Drummond Island is one of the largest islands on Lake Huron, and is very close to Canadian territory. The geology of the land is unique in that it is made of limestone, with the bedrock exposed in many places. The Maxton Plains, which cover much of the northern half of the island, is an <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alvar">alvar grassland</a> and is host to an incredible variety of plant species — some of which are only found in this distinct habitat.<br />
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As is the case with any open grassland, there is very little shade to be had. The sun beats down upon the stunted plants and dry soil; materials, no matter how sturdy, become weathered at an advanced rate. I happened upon several deer bones while exploring the Maxton Plains — they were bleached and brittle from spending years in the sun.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9050401866/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Bone Flowers by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Bone Flowers" height="500" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7373/9050401866_27c2a7ae75.jpg" width="332" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9063324540/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Old Bones by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Old Bones" height="500" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3713/9063324540_a59f4f4706.jpg" width="341" /></a></div>
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Though we were a few miles from the lakeshore, fish bones were also found on the plains. How they got there is anyone's guess. </div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9054071764/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Maxton Plains by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Maxton Plains" height="500" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2824/9054071764_078531a011.jpg" width="334" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9059750119/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Fish Bones by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Fish Bones" height="260" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2863/9059750119_c28447e7d8.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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On the final night of our stay, we took a walk down to the beach. The sun was setting and the lake was restless — a warm wind was moving through the bay. Strewn on the sand, amongst crayfish carapaces and aquatic snails, were the remains of two different bullheads. Both had been thoroughly pecked at by the gulls.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9068156613/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Bullhead (I) by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Bullhead (I)" height="268" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7455/9068156613_dd58fec6b0.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/9068184619/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Bullhead (II) by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Bullhead (II)" height="500" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7404/9068184619_db70cd0d50.jpg" width="328" /> </a></div>
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As the sky grew darker, the gray treefrogs began their evening chorus, singing from the towering cedars. Dragonflies hawked the newly-emerging mayflies, and a turkey vulture made one final circle over the beach, its silhouette passing the glowing half-moon. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7288639382234722885.post-47563993305209647662013-06-04T11:16:00.000-04:002013-06-04T11:16:27.636-04:00ButtonsIt's now the month of June, and that means <i>deer</i>: the birth of fawns — the sprouting of velvet antlers — the shedding of winter fur. It's a scary, exciting time to be a deer, especially for last year's fawns, who are just starting to get a foothold in this big, strange world. After a long, frigid winter — which is a trying time, most notably for yearlings — the first breath of spring seems to spell freedom. Food is abundant, the wind is no longer cruel and icy, and bedding down on warm grasses is so much more comfortable than curling up on a cold patch of snow.<br />
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Some yearlings are cautious or, at the very least, lucky. They might have a near-miss with a car or a coyote — but they survive, and they learn from their mistakes, and they grow stronger. Other yearlings are not so fortunate, straying too close to traffic, and many meet their end on the road.<br />
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Yesterday's button buck was one of the unlucky yearlings.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/8944296404/" title="Roadside by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Roadside" height="500" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7438/8944296404_a21bc4bd16.jpg" width="383" /></a></div>
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He was hit along US 41 just outside of Marquette, near the Carp River bridge; the collision happened around five o'clock in the afternoon. On her way home from work, Steph saw the aftermath of the accident: the parked car, the deer's body. Two hours later, the carcass was still there, being experimentally pecked at by a crow or two; by nine o'clock, the setting sun had slipped behind the ancient ridges of worn mountains, and the deer remained. The crows had left, and the air temperature, hovering at 40°F, had kept insect scavengers at bay.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/8944480194/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Deathmask by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Deathmask" height="500" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5322/8944480194_8dab32b797.jpg" width="333" /></a></div>
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Occasionally I find that there's a strange sense of serenity that creeps in at unexpected, perhaps even inappropriate times. Last night was one of those moments. As I circled the deer with my camera, road noise disappeared — the chill in the air melted away — and all became quite silent and still. The world faded around me — and it was just myself and this young deer, with his dead eyes, his coy smile, and his patchy, transitioning fur.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/8943758205/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Transitional Pelage III by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Transitional Pelage III" height="225" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5467/8943758205_8105a73891.jpg" width="320" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/8944400544/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Transitional Pelage II by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Transitional Pelage II" height="232" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3823/8944400544_5335b2442f.jpg" width="320" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/8944447556/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Transitional Pelage I by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Transitional Pelage I" height="246" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8117/8944447556_e9495dd784.jpg" width="320" /> </a></div>
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There was no sign of a prolonged death. The ground was not stirred up by the kicking of legs, and the only blood to be seen came in a small trickle, seeping from the buck's nostrils. One velvet nub on his head had burst open from being scraped along the pavement; the other was intact.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/8944363552/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Pedicles I by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Pedicles I" height="500" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7444/8944363552_d9444353db.jpg" width="347" /> </a></div>
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The sound of traffic slowly materialized around me once more. The cars slowed, then sped up again once they'd passed: another dead deer, another weirdo taking photos of it. Save for the rivulet of blood and the pedicle with roadburn, by all outward appearances, the button buck seemed unharmed. His legs weren't broken and askew at strange angles; his vitals weren't smeared across the asphalt. </div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/8943719183/" title="Stretch by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Stretch" height="500" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5333/8943719183_e8c953a870.jpg" width="332" /> </a></div>
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On the way back to my car, I spotted tracks in the grit and sand alongside the highway — deer tracks, leading to where he had fallen. The path was stilted and erratic — visibly panicked. The final moments of this young buck's life were not nearly as peaceful as his gracefully-posed corpse belied. He had been spooked, likely quite confused by the glimmer of Lake Superior and the roar of rush hour traffic that separated him from it. </div>
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June is a scary month for young deer. For a list of reminders on how to better avoid a car-deer collision, read last year's <a href="http://jorieobrien.blogspot.com/2012/06/deer-month.html"><i>Deer Month</i></a>. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7288639382234722885.post-51744234897847930362013-05-31T12:11:00.000-04:002013-05-31T12:11:23.060-04:00Buggy BuckIt's a slow process, but it's happening: the buck head out back is gradually being decomposed by a horde of maggots. Last week, when their numbers were at their strongest, the fly larvae seemed to seep out of every orifice on the head: the eye sockets, nose, mouth. The smallest disturbance — whether it was moving their host a fraction of an inch or even simply casting a shadow over them — would send the maggots into a frenzy.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/8775867538/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Larval by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Larval" height="269" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8420/8775867538_883a5dc730.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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In the days since, the maggot activity has noticeably lessened — at least, from the outside. One reason for this is that the birds have been using the larvae as an all-you-can-eat buffet! I've spotted robins, sparrows, and warblers all within the vicinity of the buck head, and they've been leaving behind their droppings nearby. </div>
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The weather has been ridiculously irregular, with fluctuating temperatures and, oftentimes, a chill blowing in from Lake Superior. Since warm weather hasn't been a constant, it has also hampered the progress of the maggots. Still, they're eating away at their host, from the inside out:</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/8896846731/" title="Decomposition by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Decomposition" height="500" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5458/8896846731_0438fce786.jpg" width="380" /> </a></div>
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Quite a bit of fur has fallen from the skin — which, yesterday, had a rather darkened, desiccated appearance. Some areas of the skin have been eaten away entirely, which is apparent in the photograph above: the buck's lower molars are visible! The inside of the head has liquefied into an indiscernible, spongy mess; the tongue has dried up; the top of the head, where there is no muscle for the fly larvae to eat, looks relatively unchanged.</div>
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There is one other reason the numbers of maggots have lessened: they're pupating!</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_jacques_strappe/8896862873/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Fly Pupa by I am Jacques Strappe, on Flickr"><img alt="Fly Pupa" height="500" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3708/8896862873_cb86d2b6f3.jpg" width="325" /> </a></div>
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Buried beneath the head and tucked into its skin and fur are fly pupae. Soon, they will emerge as adults, and will likely lay their eggs on the very same host that they fed upon as larvae. </div>
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<i>See also: </i><a href="http://jorieobrien.blogspot.com/2013/03/a-dead-animal-sampler.html">A Dead Animal Sampler</a><i> (March 15, 2013), </i><a href="http://jorieobrien.blogspot.com/2013/04/cold-decay.html">Cold Decay</a> <i>(April 22, 2013), and </i><a href="http://jorieobrien.blogspot.com/2013/04/fly-portraits.html">Fly Portraits</a> <i>(April 27, 2013)</i>.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1