Spring Sapsucker Surprise

I'm a firm believer in omens, especially good ones.  As I met Paul Suchanek at our neighborhood lake he had already spotted our first good omen,  a Peregrine Falcon sitting on our favorite dead Eucalyptus tree.  It was already a great day of birding.

Peregrine Falcon (digiscoped approx 300 yards distant

 As we walked around the lake and nearby field it was clear spring migration had begun in earnest, just two days after its heralded beginning.  Lucy's Warblers were singing from the mesquites, four varieties of swallows circled the lake, and Lincoln's Sparrows gave short buzzy bursts from the knee-high grassy understory.   My first Black-chinned Hummingbird perched over us in the mesquites, and the soft sounds of White-winged Doves could be heard above the mockingbird's repetitive spring repertoire. 

Large groups of Neotropic Cormorants were also a pleasant surprise.  Each group which passed seemed larger than the previous one, the last being 18 individuals.  Ebird would be flagging this entry as a high count for sure.

Neotropic Cormorants

In the first one and a half hour stretch we had seen just under 40 species, a good clip for early migration.   I pitched the idea to continue on to our cattail pond, a diverse habitat which could be a warbler trap.  This winter a juvenile Yellow-bellied Sapsucker had also taken advantage of the predrilled holes in the Eucalyptus trees along the shoreline.  Paul agreed, and both of us hoped we would also see some raptors catching thermals for migration as the heat rose up from the desert floor, what is locally known as the "lift off."  We would be disappointed in this area (only a single migrating Turkey Vulture) but our birding efforts would be rewarded.  

Neotropic Cormorant and Northern Shoveler

A medium-sized bird caught our attention as it flew to the uppermost dead snags of the tree before us.  It was an American Robin, an uncommon sight in the low desert this late in the season.  Two Neotropic Cormorants had also stopped down for a bite, or should I say swallow, as we watched it engulf some sort of sunfish.  They both soon departed and we left the pond's shoreline to walk the wash directly behind it.   

We looked up at the tall budding Eucalyptus before us.  There was some fluttering about, but mostly Yellow-rumped Warblers.  I thought back to when this tree was a migrant magnet, with tanagers, grosbeaks, warblers, and vireos captivating my senses for hours.  Perhaps this could be another such year...   

It was so unassuming as if flew into the loftier reaches of the tree, resting on a upwardly sloping branch. It then became immobile except for it's head, which cocked about slowly and curiously around the loose light bark.  Paul and I were both locked onto it with our bins, but neither of us called out its name.   We shot each other a  puzzled glance.  I had the better angle of the mostly hidden bird (and was looking through a scope), and noticed barring on the flanks.   A long shot came to mind.   "Female Williamson's Sapsucker?"  It was more of a question than a statement.  The last time it had been recorded in the low desert of Tucson was in 2011, and in 2009 before that.  And never this late in the season.  

Williamson's Sapsucker-photo property of Paul Suchanek

Paul noted other field marks, the yellow on the belly, the relatively unmarked brown head, and we both got looks at the black bib, all  differentiating it from not just other sapsuckers but it's closest lookalike, the Gila Woodpecker.   It was not only a first for the neighborhood, but a life bird for me as well (1st ever sighting).  As we craned our necks with our cameras to document this unusual gift, I smiled, remembering the special trips I had taken up Mount Lemmon this year, just to see this species.   The trips had all been unsuccessful, but had prepared me for this moment, seeing this unique specialty right in our own neighborhood patch.   Thank you for appreciating the unique gifts in your neighborhood!

Ebird entries can be found below;

Cattail Pond Birds

Castlerock Birds (excluding Cattail birds)   

12 Long Years for Long-eared (Flashback)

Flashback winter 2014 Tucson Bird Count.

Long-Eared Owl (photos property of Paul Suchanek)

The birds were active this Sunday morning after a light rain the day before.  Any rain is good rain in the desert, where conservation is survival, at least for the plants and wildlife.  Paul Suchanek joined me for a day of counting birds for the Tucson Bird Count, a citizen science project now run by the Tucson Audubon Society.   Our first stop was the big lake, where Paul rattled off 23 species in the five minute time period as I stood and scribbled names and numbers.  Even for this diverse water habitat 23 species is one of the highest counts.   

Our next count area was the nearby mesquite bosque.   This would be ten minute count in which we would walk through the mesquites and count birds seen and heard.   As we waited to start the clock I mentioned to Paul that there was one bird which had eluded me in this transect in the twelve years I'd been surveying this "park."   It was the mysterious Long-eared Owl.  In fact, I created this transect with this bird in mind, since I had seen it in years past in these very mesquites.  That was twelve years ago.   Over the years it would be seen off and on sporadically, sometimes skipping a year, but never during a survey.   I would call it a nemesis, but our relationship was not of hunter and prey, or as competitors.  Our meetings were a gift to behold whenever seen, and part of the uniqueness was its unpredictability.   It was always a pleasant, unexpected surprise.

Our walk was rewarding as a Ruby-crowned Kinglet called, and 3 Western Bluebirds flew overhead.   An Ash-throated Flycatcher, rare in winter, called out with a pop-like call note.  We had some interesting birds for this section.   I calmed my usual anticipation as we neared the area where the owl had been seen in past years.  I knew its various perches, but this time wanted to clear my mind of expectations.  "You need to look with fresh eyes," I thought, "As if it's your first time here."   

Long-Eared Owl (photos property of Paul Suchanek)

With this in mind I scanned the vegetation to the right of the trail, where it had never been seen.   My eyes came upon a vine tangle, yet it looked too solid.  I brought my bins excitedly to my eyes, then turned to Paul with an excited whisper "It's here!"   We marveled at how camouflaged it appeared, hiding in plain sight.  This owl has a way of stretching its body upward until it looks just like a broken branch pointing upward.  After finishing the transect we came back over to its location on our way to our next point count.   As we slipped by the branches seemed to open up, and we were treated to an unobstructed view of this wonderfully rare friend.  

Long-Eared Owl (photos property of Paul Suchanek)

This long sought addition to our park count list of birds would also be a first for the Tucson Bird Count!  I was so happy to finally experience the awe of this bird's presence during the TBC.   What are some of your special wildlife experiences?   Thank you for appreciating this incredibly diverse planet of uniquely different, yet similar living beings.  

Tips on separating Long-eared Owl from the sometimes similar Great Horned Owl.   The Long-eared Owl had a cross-hatched pattern chest pattern, dark vertical lines going through the eyes, a slimmer build with longer tail (when in camouflaged posture here), long ear tuffs which are set closer together than on Great Horned.  The Great Horned Owl also has a white bib on the throat.   Sometimes the Great Horned can have dark cross hatching on the chest.   The dark line extending vertically through the eye will be your best field mark when in doubt.  

Good Birding!

Kino's Last Ride (continuation from previous post)

Continuation from previous post.  This is a personal journal of our last day together.  It may not be for everyone.   Perhaps only therapeutic for myself, a tribute to my best friend, Kino.   

Tonya and Kino

Friday.  Our friend Tonya stopped over to pick up Joni for a short day of work.  Kino and Tonya have had a close bond this past year, and Kino strained to stand up from the blanket so as to say good bye.  It was important for him to have her to see him as healthy and strong for their last meeting this lifetime.   The kitties had a sense of the shortness of time together, and would come close to him to say farewell.   Sweet Lilly has the closest bond to Kino, always concerned for his welfare, and my heart poured out to her.   He was her protector, and she was always waiting a the door when we returned from our outings.  As they left Mrs S. eyes welled up with emotion for her loving protector over the years.  

Lilly and Kino

Daniel Boone and Kino

After they left I took Kino up Mount Lemmon again.   We rocked out to our favorite songs playing on the radio.  At times it was hard to keep it together, but his smile would give me the strength to hold back the grief until its time.  Some tunes seemed to be played especially for us, dedications if you will, their lyrics having hidden meanings for our day's journey.  Some titles were;

"Here I go again on my own""Here I go again," by Whitesnake

"Time in a bottle."  "Time in a Bottle," by Jim Croce

"Yesterday"  "Yesterday," by The Beatles

"A Horse with no name."  "A Horse with No Name," by America
"Two tickets to Paradise."

For the last two songs I recorded myself singing to Kino and his rhythmic breathing to the lyrics.   I will only torture you with my singing of the latter, though.  Just press play, if you dare. 

We went from Mount Lemmon straight to Tino's Pizza, leaving with two slices.   Back at home we shared our feast.   Kino  would climb mountains for pizza crust, and we shared our lunch before leaving again together to pick up Mrs. S from work.  He was so good in the car, and enjoyed the forty minute ride.  We pampered him with some hot dogs, which he wolfed down practically without chewing.  After some time at home, Mrs S went to pick up our daughter while Kino and I took a cozy nap together.  At one point he gave me a nervous look as if asking what to expect beyond this life.  I stroked his coat telling him mentally I didn't know, having not experience it yet, or not remembering.  But I was sure it would be a lot better than staying here.   But I assured him I would be with him through the experience, as far as I could go.  Somehow I think he heard and understood, and for the rest of the day he made a point to be happy, enjoying the company of his family (myself, Mrs. S, our daughter, and the kitties).  

Joni arrived with our daughter and Kino's spirits perked right up.  I remember when he used to howl her name with excitement whenever she came in the door, his back quarters swaying with the movement of his tail.   We spent some quality time together, talking about life and how lucky we were to have Kino around all these years.  

It was almost time, but I had one more place to take my friend.  I picked him up and carried him to our favorite recent walking spot, the lawn by the lake.  We lay on the soft carpet of thick grass in an area shaded by mesquites against the afternoon sun.   We both knew why we were there, and relished our last moments together on this beautiful earth, relaxed in each others company.   A sweet breeze brushed against our faces like a mother's sweet loving touch.  Kino always loved to sit facing the wind, the air moving his fur about like ripples on a mountain lake.   I knew Kino's ripples on our lives would continue way past this day, like sweet memories on a calm day whispered by rustling leaves at the tops of trees.

When Mrs. S and our daughter arrived, Kino insisted on standing.   She took our last pictures together on the lawn, the sun beaming down on us, and Kino's smile shining upon us.  I sat in the back seat with him on the blanket as we drove to our destination.  He rested himself completely against my chest, watching Mrs. S through the rear view mirror.   Whenever I look in that mirror I will always expect, or hope, to see his face looking back at me from the back seat, as he would each time we went for a ride.  

As we said our good byes I held him close, burying my tears in the fur of his beautiful white mane, so that everyone he meets on his new journey will know how much he was, and is loved by those he left behind.  .
  
Everything went so smoothly the whole day, all because Kino willed it so.  It was the best day ever for saying good bye to a best friend.  As we drove west the sun was setting on this world.  We met my son in law at Lovin' Spoonfuls, and shared memories, and it seemed we were not alone, that his spirit was there, listening, checking to ensure we were okay.  Then, partway through the meal, suddenly the presence was gone, off to continue his voyage of discovery, hopefully carried by the gentle winds of our loving memories.  


It's been almost four weeks  since I saw Kino smile, felt his warm hugs against my chest and shoulder, and ran my fingers through his thick mane.   The memories are trying to fade with time, hoping my grief will subside with their passing.  But would rather grieve for the rest of my life than to lose the memories of the way it felt to see him smile at me in the rear view mirror, to remember the way it felt to have his head pressed against my neck in a warm hug as I held him close, or even the way he would lean against in total trust as held his bowl up.   There are so many fond memories.  Some say there's a heaven after this life but I don't buy it.   I can't see anything that would measure up to my expectations.  Besides, it seems so crowded, doesn't it?  And I'm definitely not a city person.   But, then again, when Kino and I shared our time together, as best friends, brothers, and comrades in this crazy life...Well, that was enough heaven for me.  

I still hear the lyrics of "Thunder and Rain," every day even when the radio isn't playing.  Now that I've lost my friend the song brings back the closeness, worthwhile even with the pain.  And I still hope, someday, that I'll see him again.  Until then, whenever I hear the rustle of leaves on a windless day, I will remember the sweet memories of my best friend, Kino.

I remember seeing a card once, with a picture showing Australian shepard mix dog trotting away down an unpaved country road.  I loved the card since it resembled Kino, and I could picture his ears bouncing up and down in rhythm, as when I watched him happily trotting in front of me on our walks.  The caption read "All who wander are not lost."   Some phrases speak volumes, don't they?   

Thank you for appreciating life, and those we share our hearts with in this brief moment, a millisecond in our world's long and interesting life.

Fond memories with Kino over the years;

The day Mrs. S picked him at the Humane Society, and brought him to my work to show me.  I took one look at her face and knew she had fallen in love with another "guy."  So had I.

Holding his rawhide and carrot sticks when he was a tiny puppy and too small to hold it.

The day he learned how to lift his leg to pee-Yeahhhh!

The day Kino found the kittens in our yard-protectively sitting up by their den.  

The way he would help with our yard work, laying casually on top of the dirt piles.

The way he stole our socks when he wanted attention, wagging then in front of us. 

The way he would swing and throw his toys (including my socks), with extreme accuracy I might add. 

The way he would walk away initially when I grab his harness, then get excited for his walk once it was on.  He loved to be difficult. 

Wrestling with him in the living room.

Watching him open Christmas presents.  He loved Christmas!

Watching him huff and puff at the fish in the lake, who in turn loved to splash the water as we passed by on the shore.

The way he took on the role of protector in our family.  And the way he let me stand in front to protect him (from a loose threatening dog).

His excited greeting for our daughters,  his howl sometimes saying their names. 

His affinity for removing newly planted flower heads. 

The time we raced on a horse path, and, just as I thought "I still got it after all these years!," my hamstring snapping, sending me face down in, how do I phrase it"horse path."

The way he would sleep on our bed, by our feet, for as long as he could jump up on the bed.   

His sixth sense of knowing when we brought a toy home from the store.

The way he howled like a wolf when the phone message came on, alerting us to the call.  

Brushing his fur, especially his main.  He would always fidget but I knew he loved it. 

Laying on my lap after his baths, wrapped in a towel, totally relaxed with a zen-like peacefulness about him.

His sweet expressive cinnamon eyebrows.

Watching him attack plant containers as a puppy, knocking them about the porch.

His cinnamon eyebrows which always gave him special treatment.

The vet saying he looked like a tiny prince laying on the red pillow.  

Always eagerly greeting us when we came home.

His ESP, always knowing when I would be arriving home.

His soft cheek kisses which usually took some coaxing.

His fits when any squirrel, hawk, or roadrunner came into the yard.  

The way he would get excited, huff and puff, while running circles around the living room. 

The way the kitties treated him like a big fluffy cat, sticking their tale in his face as they walked under him.  

Watching him experience snow for the first time.  

The way he knew when it was the weekend and wanted me up early to go out with him. 

Running my fingers through his fur when I was having a bad day, and feeling suddenly so much  better.  He reminded me the most simple, yet most important aspects of life.

Our long walks to a distant lake, laying down and watching hundreds of Purple Martins come in to roost for the night. 

The way he herded our cats out of room whenever someone came to the door (for their protection of course).

The way he would argue with you if he had a difference of opinion.  

The way we always knew what he wanted to communicate to us.  

The way he would run to us for support when Daisy smacked his nose (gently-w/o using her claws).  She was Kino's first trainer in living harmoniously with cats.  

The way he would wait while Daisy drank her water, wagging his tail hoping she would finish. Of course his behavior would make Daisy intentionally take more time drinking until his patience would run out and he would gently nudge in to get a drink  

On winter nights sitting down next to you on the porch floor, leaning over in a "hug."

The way he would still make it to the bedroom to sleep with us even when he could hardly walk. 

Our trips to the lake when he was older, helping him to walk on the soft grass.

Our trips up Mount Lemmon, singing to Rock and Roll!

Kino's Last Sunset (part one-Feb 6, 2014)

My apologies for not writing lately.  It has been almost four weeks since I lost my best friend, and I miss him so much.  You see, Kino was my muse... and my distraction.  He gave me so many interesting experiences to write about, yet would distract me whenever I sat to write about our adventures.  Now that he's gone I have the time, yet perhaps less desire.  Perhaps by writing about our last days it will help the healing process.  I don't expect your readership for your time is best spent on happier endeavors.  But here it is, all the same;  

Kino and Lilly after Kino's bubblebath

Angels belong in Heaven, not on earth.  I suppose that's why our companion animals get whisked away from us so quickly.  They're only here for a short time, to show us boundless love by example, and to give us the courage to entrust our hearts to someone other than ourselves.   Kino was my guardian angel, a mischievous one at that, who showed me how to open my heart and let love in.  His universal acceptance of me with my faults allowed me to shower him with the love I can only express to my most trusted friends.  In the end his loving spirit was so strong that he was able to stay months past his departure date, knowing I wasn't prepared to lose him just yet.  But his body wouldn't listen sometimes, and lately I would carry him where ever he needed to go.  

At first it was the lush, soft grassy area by the lake.  He could sometimes take some steps about with a little help.  Then we would go up the mountain, where he could sit on a blanket in the back seat, listening to me belt out rock and roll from the sixties, seventies, and eighties.  The Rolling Stones would always get us smiling, as he watched me in the rear view mirror.  We'd get out and sit, watch the beautiful scenery, and feel the cool breeze against our face.   He was always interested in sunsets, watching the sun fall against the desert horizon glowing like a distant campfire.  

Since last summer I've been worried about knowing how to determine when his time had come to move on out of this body which was seemingly way too small for the spirit it contained.   While his body failed on multiple fronts his eyes shone like marbles held up towards the sun, and his huge smile always made our world a little brighter.   How would I know when the time was right-would he give me a sign?  I was now feeding him and holding his water dish so he could drink without falling.   Each week we would adjust according to the new, "normal," in Kino's condition so so he could stay with us a little bit longer.  

It was the first days of February, almost a month after his 15th birthday.   His whimpering that Sunday night continued throughout the night, even when I lay beside him on the floor.   He could always communicate so well with us, yet I could not understand what he needed.   I felt so helpless not being to help him with his pain.  

Monday night had fewer interruptions, but when I got home from work Tuesday Kino's front paw was collapsing under him.  This was a big problem since his front legs were his good legs, enabling him to stand for short periods.  We took him to the all night clinic where he also got a shot to help with the severe arthritis in his back legs.   The next morning he had no interest in eating or drinking, and as I drove to work a feeling of panic came over me.   I called Mrs. S to check his status before she left, but it hadn't changed.   I hurriedly asked for time off to drive back home to care for him.  My manager was very understanding, having companion animals himself (rescued as well).    

I mentally told Kino I was coming home, and by the time I got there it seemed he had been  waiting in anticipation.  He was so thankful, giving me loving kisses on the cheek(Kino usually only gives kisses only after persistent requests).    I helped him eat and drink, and I cradled him in my arms as we sat for long sessions on the porch, our yard birds paying no mind as he rested his head against my chest.  The effects of the shot he had received had passed, and we were hopeful he would be pain free.

That night I slept with him again as he expressed the pain he felt.  I tried everything to ease his burden, but he could not sleep.   At four O'clock Mrs. S and I massaged his legs, which seemed to help.  We discussed the inevitable and knew we could not let him suffer.  It was time.   I was laying next to Kino when our decision was finally made.  He lifted his head and gave me wet kisses on the lips,  seemingly thanking us for our decision to let his spirit free.   This was the communication for which I had been hopefully waiting.  He was telling me it was time to let him go.

Mrs. S stayed home Thursday to care for him.  Later that afternoon I brought Kino up Mount Lemmon.   The James Taylor song "Fire and Rain," came on the radio, and his lyrics felt like a rain shower of emotions falling on my weakened soul.  The stresses of the last few week's continual challenges fell down my cheeks like rain off a sloping roof.    At Windy Point Vista a light rain had just fallen, darkening the road's stony surface.  A stiff cold burst of air turned our head around as I held Kino against my shoulder.  It relented for a spell, and we watched our last sunset together, the sky burning like a wildfire against the picturesque mountain-scape.  

That night Mrs. S suggested giving Kino a bubble bath using his dog shampoo.  For some reason it appeared logical despite the fact that he has been averse to baths throughout his life (to say the least).  I carried him into the tub, the soothingly hot water instantly relaxing his tired joints.  He enjoyed it so much we now wonder if, in his next life, he will have an unexplained fascination with bubble baths!   It was only 9:00 but we both fell into a peaceful sleep, side by side on the warm cozy blanket laid out on our living room floor... 

Thank you for appreciating the angels you have around you in your household, your yard, in this life.   When you think about it, if you can't recognize them here, how will you recognize them in heaven?

Continued on next post.