Strix varia

Barred owls (Strix varia) are a relatively common and widespread species of owl, native to a large portion of northeastern North America. In recent years, their population has moved west across the continent; so adaptable are these owls that they can easily thrive in suburban settings, such as city parks and neighborhoods. As adults, they have few natural predators, their greatest threat being vehicles.

Owl-car collisions are not rare. Oftentimes, owls will perch in trees alongside roadways at night, waiting for rodents and other small animals to appear. Nighttime traffic and swooping owls isn't an optimal situation, and the owls always lose out in the end. Other birds of prey suffer the same fate: hawks, eagles, and vultures are common victims, as well. The difference with owls is that they are active at night, and ghostlike, seem to materialize from thin air.

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Steph called me while she was on her way to Munising, and said that about thirteen miles out, there was a large, brown-and-white bird, dead in the middle of the road. I hemmed and hawed for a while, not sure if it was worth driving the almost-thirty-mile round-trip for a mystery bird that could potentially be obliterated by the time I arrived. I finally gave in, however, and set off down M-28 – and I'm glad I did, because it presented me with the unique and sobering experience to see, touch, and photograph a roadkill barred owl.

In the time that it had taken me to get there, the owl's body had traveled another two miles. Just a wing, tail, and feet, held together by some battered bones, the carcass was stuck in the weeds alongside the road. At first glance, I thought that it was all damage from being run over by cars, again and again, but a closer look made it clear that the owl had actually been dead for some time. The bones were dry and gnawed upon, the connective tissue was hard, there was no blood to speak of. In the days prior, the owl had likely been hit on the road, and then subsequently been discovered by a scavenger. How many animals had fed on it, before the owl was deposited in the middle of the highway?

Since there wasn't much left of the body, I focused on documenting the barred owl's feet and feathers. Owls are highly specialized birds, with some unique features that aid them in their nighttime, predatory behavior.

 

 
 

Barred owl feet are special, and are quite different from those of other birds – and even some other owls. The toes are arranged in a way that allows them to grasp onto branches and prey with ease. The talons are long, curved, and sharp, and resemble fishhooks. The entire leg, as well as the top of the foot, is covered in dense, fur-like feathers, which is important for a bird that lives year-round in the northwoods. The underside of the foot, meanwhile, is lined with bumpy scales – also to aid with grip.

 

 

 

 

Owls are famous for being silent fliers. How do they do it? Their flight feathers have a modified, fringed edge, as seen in the first and third photos above. When drawn through the air, the feather – and the entire wing – is noiseless. It makes for a silent flier, and a successful hunter. Also important for the owl is its coloration. Owls have markings that help them blend into their surroundings; in the case of the barred owl, its plumage is dappled and brown, making detection in a forest quite the challenge.

I've never had the opportunity to see or hear a wild, living barred owl. In that respect, finding one dead on the side of the road is both frustrating and sad. However, having the chance to see it up close – the feathers, the talons – allowed me to learn a great deal more about this beautiful animal.

Deer Month

The month of June is notorious for deer-car collisions. Does have given birth to their fawns, leaving them behind, hidden, while they forage; bucks have begun to grow their velvety antlers in a first surge of testosterone. Deer become more active after a long winter, and are more apt to dart across dirt roads and highways alike.

Though many accidents are unavoidable, some steps can be taken to decrease the chance of hitting a deer while driving.

• Be especially vigilant at dawn and dusk, as these are times when deer most frequently travel. This doesn't mean deer won't jump into the road at any other other time, however; morning hours, when the sun is climbing in the sky, are still just as dangerous, as are evening hours, when the sun is setting.

• If the sun is in your eyes, slow down. I have found many deer are hit along stretches of road where the sun is shining against the driver during the aforementioned times of day.

• If one deer is crossing the road, there's a very good chance that more will follow. Slow down, and stop if necessary, until you are sure that all of the deer have crossed. Proceed cautiously and slowly.

• Even if a deer looks to be stopped on the side of the road, or turning away, proceed with caution. Deer are easily spooked and can change their mind in an instant.

• Go the speed limit. This can't be repeated enough. The speed limit in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, for example, is 55 miles per hour. This can be pushed to 60 miles per hour, but generally, go no faster than the posted speed limit. Obeying the law will cut down on slower-animal deaths as well, especially turtles, snakes, raccoons, and foxes.

In the past several days, I've photographed two different deer that have been hit on M-28, the deathtrap of a highway that runs between Marquette and Munising. The first was a yearling buck with tiny velvet nubs, and the second, this morning, was a beautiful doe who had swollen teats – evidence that somewhere, there's a hungry, motherless fawn.

 

Last week's button buck was tiny. His legs and neck were pencil-thin, and he'd still been in the process of shedding his winter fur, resulting in a strange, patchy appearance. The velvet nubs on his head had severe road rash, bleeding profusely; foam had spilled from his nostrils as he died. It was gruesome, and one of the most disturbing results of a car-deer collision I've seen. As I left, the turkey vultures were already on their way.

This morning's doe, however, was beautiful. The scene wasn't gory; her back end pointed toward the highway, while her face was nestled amongst the clovers and grass. So recently had she died, the flies hadn't yet discovered the body; her eyes still looked so alive.

 

 

 

Leash Your Dog! – Another Coyote Update

It's been a few months since I last posted about the coyote carcass in our backyard. Decomposition has been going quite well, especially with warmer temperatures and a few days' worth of rain. The carrion beetles have been very active, and their larvae are eating the last of the remaining flesh. Still, there have been a few hitches along the way, in the form of a different species of canid: the domestic dog.

Sadly, there are irresponsible dog owners in the area, who do not believe in leashing their pets. Even worse, some folks simply let their dogs wander through the neighborhood, unattended, to do whatever they please, wherever they please. Unattended dogs often end up in our yard, sometimes just to defecate, and other times, to investigate the coyote. It's not something I'm happy about, and I wish more could be done to enforce the leash law.

A week or so ago, I went out back to survey our yard, and when I got to where the coyote should have been, it was entirely absent (despite having been there perhaps an hour before). I was both alarmed and concerned, and set out at once to locate it – surely a dog couldn't have dragged the whole body away without anyone noticing. It didn't take me long to find it: the coyote rested in a nearby driveway, about thirty feet from where it was supposed to be. Mostly bones, it was still held together by scant flesh, and I returned the carcass to our backyard. One of the back legs, however, was missing, and I doubt I'll ever see it again.

Not wanting a repeat of this incident, I placed a pallet, lined with window screening, over the body. This worked for a few days, until I saw that, yet again, a dog had visited, and had attempted to pull the coyote out from under the pallet. This time, it had made off with half of the pelvis and several tail vertebrae, which I'm sure are now long-gone. From four planks of wood and window screening, I constructed a more suitable decay-box; however, I had to pull the carcass apart, into four separate pieces, for it to fit underneath. On top of the decay-box I placed two heavy rocks. So far, this has worked.

This is what the coyote looked like this morning, after two days in a row of rain:

Predictably, the carcass is soggy and stinky, but these are great conditions for decomposition! Note the coyote's ghoulish, semi-mummified eye.

 

Ribs poke through decomposing flesh, catching the sunlight. I cannot stress enough how crucial this rain has been; the Upper Peninsula has been in a state of drought for years and years, and this particular spring has already been brutal. Last week there were two very large forest fires east of here, which together burned up tens of thousands of acres. Both are contained or near containment, and I'm sure the rain helped. Rain: good for plants, good for soil, and good for decomposition. All of these things are interconnected.

 

The right side of the coyote's head was damaged when she was hit by a car, and I have a feeling it was the impact against the pavement that did it. A few of her teeth are shattered, as is the back of her cranium. I look forward to seeing the skull in full, once the decay has finally finished.  

Note: Had a wild animal dragged the coyote away, I would be disappointed, but not angry. Scavenging is part of the natural world, and is, obviously, an integral part of this project's message. However, domestic dogs are not wildlife, nor do they belong in my backyard, so I do believe my exasperation and call for dog owners to leash their pets are justified. 

Another thing of note: In the winter, when the coyote carcass had flesh on it, it was visited by foxes, raccoons, and quite possibly a mink. The body wasn't once disturbed by dogs, as people don't typically let their dogs out for extended periods of time when it's cold. In contrast, when the flesh truly started to decay past the stage of edibility, wild animals left the coyote alone entirely.

See also: Tales of Coyote Trickery, Coyote Check-Up, and When Coyotes Fly.

A Star-Nosed Mole

There are some animals that we don't know much about, due to their secretive behavior or remote habitat. Many of these mysterious animals live deep in the world's oceans, or in the thickest, most secluded part of the rainforest. But, if you can believe it, there are a few animals, right here in Michigan, whose habits biologists are still attempting to study and understand! One of those animals is the star-nosed mole (Condylura cristata).

I came across one, dead, a few days ago. It was lying upside-down on a bike bath, having only just died, probably less than an hour before. There was no sign of what had killed the mole, though it seemed to have a few puncture wounds in its back that were bleeding. Because moles are in the same order as shrews, I assumed that the mole had a bad taste that repelled its would-be predator. However, that assumption was false: star-nosed moles do not possess a bad taste or smell, so why the body was left remains a mystery.

Star-nosed moles are wonderful and bizarre in appearance. Their dark fur is dense and silky, and is water-repellant: which makes sense, as these moles live in damp habitats and can swim in pursuit of prey. The tail is long, scaly, and sparsely covered in thick hairs. The eyes are almost non-existent, and may be useful only for distinguishing between light and dark surroundings. The front feet have evolved perfectly over millions of years, and are amazing digging machines.

But, perhaps most bizarre and fantastic is the star-nosed mole's namesake: its nose.

 

This nose may well be the most sensitive, highly-developed nose in the animal kingdom. It is adorned with eleven pairs of tentacles – all of which can move independently – and each tentacle is covered with thousands of tiny sensory receptors called Eimer's organs. With this nose, the mole can effectively "see" its surroundings, in a way completely different than humans and most other vertebrates. It is perfect for detecting and catching the star-nosed mole's favorite prey: earthworms.

 

After photographing the mole, I skinned it, and was amazed to see the structure of the head. The eyes were the size of poppy seeds, if not smaller, the snout was ridiculously long, and the teeth were tiny, sharp, and numerous. Unsurprisingly, the muscles on the forelegs were extremely well-developed.

Because star-nosed moles are so secretive, and their habitat doesn't usually intersect with gardens or lawns, they're not a common sight. I feel very fortunate to have found this animal! To see a star-nosed mole in action, watch this video. They are amazingly fast!

A Tusked Squirrel

A few weeks ago, I received a handful of old taxidermy mounts that were no longer wanted at the Museum of Zoology back in Ann Arbor. All are in rougher shape, especially the fruit bat and the fox, and are quite likely full of arsenic. My favorite of the group, though, is a common fox squirrel with an uncommon appearance.

 

This fox squirrel had a nasty case of malocclusion when it died. Many species of mammals, including humans, can develop malocclusion, but it's the most dramatic with rodents: rodent incisors grow constantly, meaning they must gnaw constantly to wear down their teeth. When a squirrel has a cleft palate or a broken jaw (or is fed an improper diet its entire life), the incisors no longer align properly, resulting in overgrown, curled teeth.

 

In some extreme cases, the top incisors can grow so long that they pierce through the palate, and may continue back out the top of the animal's head. It's a miserable existence, and most rodents with malocclusion don't live for very long – pain and infections aside, it's hard to eat, and many die of starvation. One has to wonder if the taxidermist who mounted this squirrel – holding a nut it obviously could never eat – had a bit of a sick sense of humor.

 

This mount may have ended up in a dumpster, so I'm very happy to instead have it in my collection. It's bizarre, sad, and a wonderful example of how torturous Mother Nature can be.