May 25. I saw two lizards mating in the “riparian paradise”—the former dog run where I’ve built my bird pond. They were big guys, especially the male. I believe they were chuckwallas, but I’ll have to learn more. The male was very colorful, with a yellow back and bright blue throat area. He seemed pretty spiky, too. The female was smaller, and rather drab. They went at it for a minute or two, then the female began struggling and finally broke away. She scurried across the ground and into the vegetation with the male in hot pursuit, but by the time he reached the vegetated area she had disappeared. He looked around for a while in seeming confusion and disappointment.

The same morning, I finally saw a black-chinned male hummer at one of the feeders.

May 26. Why does a lizard cross the road?

On our morning walk along the River Walk, we saw dozens—maybe hundreds—of lizards, all scurrying from one side of the path to the other. Some were the big lumbering guys, some ordinary-looking slim brown lizards, and a bunch were smallish guys with black and white striped tails that they hold up and curved, like a scorpion. There were also numerous ground squirrels on either side of the path, digging holes and seemingly enjoying the relative coolth (low nineties) of this late May in the Sonoran desert.

This end of the River Walk—five or so miles farther west than our old route, and I believe a bit north and higher in elevation—is much more heavily vegetated (because older, and the trees and bushes planted when it was young have had time to grow). There are many more types (and numbers) of lizards and birds, though I have yet to see a road runner.

May 27. This morning, shortly after we had our sick old cat, Ribby, euthanized, I saw a bobcat walking across the back yard. I was amazed how big it was—at least the size of a boxer dog. I called to my husband, who reported that he saw it disappear into the neighbor’s yard. He said he was surprised how small it was, so we’re assuming that we saw a mother and kitten. As this was the first bobcat I have ever seen in the wild, I’m preferring to think of it as Ribby’s spirit, appearing to let me know that he is finally wild and free.

May 24, 2004
My pond is two days old, and we’re starting to see some action! All day long a female cardinal and a male pyrrhuloxia have visited. This morning I saw a small bird—but not a Virden—with a yellow head. And lots of sparrows, finches, and doves have enjoyed bathing. The female cardinal, early this morning, was very picturesque as she daintily sipped from the waterfall.

I need more gravel and rocks to keep the water cool, and some plants to surround it, and more feeding stuff in my fenced-in riparian paradise. But we’re on the way!

May 22, 2004
Well, we have almost finished moving and have been living in the new house for about a week. What a very different nature experience! We are in the foothills, surrounded by desert vegetation. Lots and lots of doves. I’ve seen only one cardinal, briefly, in the olive tree outside my new office window. I’ve seen two female hummers—one Anna’s, one black-chinned. I think they will come around more once I hang more feeders. And a bunch of very young, curious house sparrows have been prancing around on the windowsill outside the office. They gaze inside, curiously—maybe this is the first time in years that the blinds have been open.

There are lots of quail around—as I type this, a male is strutting along the wrought-iron fence railing that surrounds the spa pump. And a gazillion lizards, including some very big ones—the size of rats, that like to sit in the shade on the patio and do pushups. I am determined to learn their names. (The guy we bought the house from said they are all called “Larry.”) I haven’t seen any geckos at night—maybe I missed them, or maybe they don’t live up here.

This morning I saw an adorable little ground squirrel out on the border between the desert and the yard. I may not consider him so adorable after awhile, because there are lots of holes in the garden areas, probably squirrel holes.

I’ve put out the seed feeder, and so far no takers, ditto with the suet feeder. HOWEVER, today the most exciting thing. We dug a hole for the pond and hauled up a bunch of rocks. I have the gravel and the sand. Later today or tomorrow I start to build my pond, and then watch out! I expect a major bird explosion.

April 4, 2004
We went directly from winter to summer, and the heat produced early blooming of citrus trees all over town. For about a week and a half, the air was heavy with the sweet, sensual fragrance of grapefruit and tangelos. Then, just as suddenly as it got hot, it got cold (fifties and sixties) and very windy and then rainy. Rainy! This time of year! Very unusual. Anyway, our backyard is littered with the debris of gazillions of citrus blossoms. At first they looked like snowflakes, but now they just look gross.

Lots of bird action over on the River Walk. More mockingbird skirmishes, hawks soaring, the Great Blue Heron flying around, goldfinches eating seeds. Lots of bird songs, too.

Saw a very interesting bit of non-bird action day before yesterday. A flock of four bicycle cops stopped, talked to a woman, got off their bikes, looked to where she was pointing in the riverbed. I saw a cop pull out his handcuffs… and use them to attach the bike to the railing along the bank.

Finally, yesterday I saw the first black chin of the season! A beautiful male, feeding from the feeder outside my office window.

March 16, 2004
It’s spring, and so much is happening! The sparrows, for example, are raising a family in the little birdhouse in the tangelo tree (or preparing to raise a family; it’s hard to tell, but there’s lots of coming and going). Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal, at least one pair, are eating sunflower seeds together, the peach tree is in blossom, and the citrus are showing signs of doing the same. It’s also hot—about ten to twelve degrees above normal, so there’s apparently not going to be much transition between winter and summer this year.

Our daily walks have gotten very exciting because it’s so springlike. Tons of wildflowers along the river walk, including desert marigold, lupine, penstemon, globe mallow, and a ton of things whose names I don’t remember. Lots of birds, including many, many mockingbirds, mostly singing, and hummers (mostly Anna’s) in what seems like every tree and bush.

Yesterday, as we approached Craycroft, I saw a middle-aged man and woman with camera, looking into the brush. I asked what they were looking at.
“We saw them yesterday, but they won’t come out today,” the man replied.
“What kind of birds are they?”
“Big birds,” he replied, holding his hands far apart. “Large wingspans.” So much for his birding expertise….
On the way back, the “big bird” had emerged. It was a beautiful Great Blue Heron.

We saw it again today, flying back and forth from one tree to another. What an amazing bird! So big and almost ungainly looking, but so graceful when flying and so majestic when perched.

We also saw a pair of mockingbirds duking it out with a ritualized “dance” along the top of a fence, and… most amazing of all, a bird I have never before seen on the river walk: a vermilion flycatcher! So red it almost hurts your eyes!

March 3, 2004
We are planning to move in a few weeks—to a whole new area, more in the desert than this one. I worry about “my” birds and hope they will be all right without me to feed them. What will become of the brilliant young cardinal? Where will the cardinal parents take their children to learn to feed without my sunflower seeds and fruit slices? I guess they’ll be okay—their species have survived for a very long time before I came on the scene.

I’ve been getting some pretty good photos lately, and hope to figure out how to post them here soon. I have two especially good mockingbird pix. This will be harder to do in the new place, but presumably not impossible.

Wanted to write about the verdins, a pair of which has been living in my yard for years. They love the hummingbird feeders, and land on them to lick up errant drops of sugar solution. I recently got a new type of feeder—round glass, without any obvious place to land (to keep the woodpeckers away in a couple of locations). The verdins have been doing their best to hover at the feeding holes—flying to them and then flapping as hard as they can while they try to sip. Needless to say, it doesn’t work. A couple of days ago the female figured out how to grip the feeding hole with one foot and then twists around to drink. I’ll try to get a picture of it—very cute.

February 27, 2004
Well, this is cool! There’s been a lot more bird activity, despite a rather cool February. I have noticed, for example, that the pair of towhees are around much more often, and that they have begun using the suet feeder.

But not today—not so far, anyway, because a beautiful mockingbird is guarding the suet feeder, as if he were a hummer and it were a flower or nectar feeder. He’s perched on the branch right above the feeder, and is attacking and chasing off other birds that dare to try to feed, including so far, finches, another mockingbird, sparrows, a cactus wren, and a woodpecker! As soon as the intruder bird lands on the wire mesh, the mockingbird gives it a fierce look. If it tries to eat, he flies at it in a fury of feathers. He occasionally flies over to the tangelo slices on the redwood planter, but keeps one eye on the suet feeder. Then rushes back to defend it.

January 29, 2004
Day before yesterday the kestrel returned! I was working in the bedroom and happened to glance up to see him, perched on the edge of the roof, his glorious profile vivid against the sky. There is something so elemental and powerful in his bearing that there is no doubt that this very small hawk is a fierce predator. I ran for the camera, but by the time I had it set up he flew off. I’m keeping a close eye out, as he does seem to realize that my backyard is a snack bar.

Yesterday afternoon I saw either The Costa’s or another Costa’s in the front patio, alternating between hovering at the tube feeder and perching on the hanger of a hanging flower basket.

Yesterday on our walk I heard a thrasher singing, probably starting to set up territories. And this morning a beautiful mockingbird perched on the redwood planter to eat tangelo slices. (The pair of towhees came over and scared him away, so I guess they are dominant to mockers.) The peach tree seems to be budding. Spring is coming!

January 24, 2004
There’s been a lot more hummer activity recently. A few days ago a beautiful male Costa’s showed up. His gorget was just the most gorgeous deep purple. He really did look like a flying, glittering jewel. I only saw him feeding at the two back feeders, and think he has already moved on. I suppose he’s headed north. I wanted to photograph him, but he didn’t feed at the office window, which is my main photo spot. While waiting for him, I did manage to get a couple of good pictures of the male verdin that lives in the yard.

I’m pretty sure I have two male broadbills, and this morning I saw a female in the office, drinking deeply with her delicate red/orange beak (tipped in black). She is quite gray otherwise.

The fox I saw in Sabino Canyon may be dead now; there have been two rabid fox carcasses found there, and two attacks on hikers (one was at Bear Canyon). It makes me nervous, and also sad for the animals.

January 5, 2004

Great excitement yesterday afternoon. I was sitting and working on the bed when I heard the sickening “thump” of a bird hitting the patio door glass. I looked out just as the cats arrived by the door, to see a mourning dove lying on the bricks. Before I could react in any way, the dove flew off, leaving me grateful that it had survived (at least for the moment) and wondering what had caused it to fly into the window so hard.

I got my answer a few minutes later when I went into the office and saw, on the gravel just outside the window, what I at first took to be a huge dove but then realized was a kestrel picking at the feathered remains of either another dove (or possibly a mockingbird—it was too far gone to be sure). While I began snapping away with my new digital camera the kestrel continued to calmly pull edible shards from the pile of feathers. He or she did not pose well, and I ended up with lots of great shots of his back and side, but none of his beautiful face or beak.

The kestrel finished lunch and flew off, leaving me very grateful to have gotten such a closeup view of “nature red in tooth and claw.”

December 30, 2003
We had a hard freeze two nights ago and last night. The first in a few years, and according to the weather service, the coldest since the nineteen-seventies (it got down to 19 one night!). We covered all the plants and the only things that froze were the cape honeysuckle against the wall, which are all brown and shriveled now—just after they had bloomed, alas.

I got up at dawn to make sure the hummers had at least a couple of unfrozen sources of nectar. They were out there and flying around before I even got outside, and it was really cold. They were all very active all day. Mid-afternoon my cats went nuts when one hummer drove another into the glass door of the patio. The injured hummer lay unmoving on the cold bricks, and I ran outside to see if I could revive it, as I have done in the past (by offering some sugar water). As I got closer I was pretty sure it was dead, and remembered that I am supposed to bag and freeze dead hummers for study by the University of Arizona. The cats watched in great excitement from inside the glass while I bent down to pick up the bird’s body—but before I could touch it, it revived and flew away, brushing my hand with its soft feathers as it did.

It’s warmer today, though still cold. As I look outside the window a small herd of quail are foraging under the tangelo tree and in the garden. Two males, three females. I’m trying to figure out if there’s any dominance ranking between the boys, but so far haven’t seen any indications.

November 30, 2003
I saw a fox! I was walking alone in Sabino Canyon, which has a pavement road leading to the top, and just before the first tram stop I saw a long, low animal with a long, thick, bushy tail, limping, crossing the road ahead of me. My brain went a little numb trying to figure out what it was: Coatamundi? Tail way too thick. Raccoon? Body too long and lean. Fox? Oh, yeah, looks like a fox! Later I talked to a naturalist at the Visitor’s Center, and told him I’d seen a limping fox. He said one has been reported between stops one and two.

The weather was just gorgeous, what my father used to call a “patented Tucson day.” Clear blue skies, mid seventies, light breeze. My idea of what winter should be.

November 24, 2003
There hasn’t been much bird action lately, with the weather growing colder and everyone through with mating and breeding. For example, I haven’t seen a mockingbird in weeks, despite the fact that the berries on the pyracantha (which I planted for the mockers) are bright red and inviting. I seldom see any cardinals, though the towhees are visiting every day to eat the striped sunflower seeds. (I’ve given up on the cardinal feeder for the winter. Am just using it as a seed storage bin.

A few days ago we had an amazing, thick, desert fog. It was so foggy we couldn’t see the mountains at all, not even an outline. Went for a walk along the River Walk, and it was just beautiful: quiet, moist, muted colors. As if the whole desert had suddenly gone pastel and blurred. It was also a little spooky. During the walk I saw three road runners, sprinting from the river, across the walk, and into the desert scrub. I hadn’t seen any road runners out there before, but have since seen a couple. I guess I just hadn’t noticed before. It’s always so much fun to see them—I love their size and the way they zoom along, sort of like the cartoon, but graceful.

The resident Anna’s male and broad-billed male, who is at least semi-resident, have been going at each other in the early morning. Instead of quietly sharing the five feeders and tanking up after a night of no food, they seem more interested in seeing that nobody eats anything. They yell and curse and chase each other all over the yard and beyond.

October 30, 2003
Bird numbers are way down. I have a resident Anna’s male—who must think he is in paradise, controlling so many feeders—and at least one female Anna. I see male broad bills from time to time but don’t have the sense they are actually living here.

The brilliant young cardinal hasn’t shown his beak in a while, but from time to time I see the tell-tale empty sunflower shells on top of the feeder. I’m still putting some seeds out in the flower pots, and have seen one immature female and an adult female, but not often.

The quail are still around. I had about eight of them two days ago, and three this morning. I continue to put out suet, seeds, sometimes fruit, and of course nectar, but mostly all I’m attracting is sparrows, finches, and doves. Which is good! I’m not complaining!

Two days ago on the River Walk we encountered a smallish and I think quite young hawk that didn’t seem too sure what it was doing. It flew from bush to bush and even perched on the walkway railing for a while, just a few feet from us. It was brownish-reddish and heavily speckled with an extravagantly banded tail. I don’t have a clue what it was. Most likely, from my bird book a Swainson’s. I wish I knew raptors better. Maybe I will take a course.

Final nature note: the fires in California are still raging and the wind has shifted so that the smoke is over Arizona. The entire valley is covered with a dark pall of smoke and dust—worse than with our own summer fires this year, because then only the north and east were covered. You can’t see any of the mountains, and the air feels heavy and unhealthy.

October 14, 2003

I had a beautiful chile plant in my front yard that I tenderly nutured for nearly ten years (watered twice a day in the heat, covered when it got cold, fertilized). It was a volunteer plant, grown from a seed that some bird probably pooped into the pot, which I used to use for seasonal stuff. It had gotten very big and lush, and always had both white flowers and little red chiles on its stems. The other morning when I went out to get the paper, I saw that it was gone. Some mean person had picked it up in its pot and made off with it. I hope whoever it was takes good care of it (sniff!).

There haven’t been too many birds of any sort in the yard. I have just a very few hummers—a male Anna that seems to be here for the winter, a couple of probable female Annas, and a broad bill or two. I still see the quail in the mornings—sometimes as many as eight of them. When I see large flocks of quail (or herds, or coveys, or whatever), I wonder about their sociology. In the summer, when they are raising families, they don’t seem to mingle much—in fact, I’ve seen one family group drive away another. But then they seem to come together after the family frenzy has died down. The other morning I counted three males in the group. I can’t tell who’s just recently become a male, but presumably there is a dominance order among them. I must pay more attention.

The cardinals are essentially gone. The only one I’ve seen in ages is the clever young male who figured out how to use the feeder. He isn’t around too much, but seems to come at least once most days. How do I know? If I don’t see him, I can see the tell-tale sunflower shells on top of the feeder!

Finally, on our walk along the river the other day, we saw a herd of vultures, circling and swooping together. I’ve seen these flocks in the past and been told that they migrate together. (I once saw a flock of eighteen circling above the McDonald’s at Tanque Verde and Kolb.) There were at least twenty of them—I lost count. Quite a magnificent sight. But the best was one vulture who dropped out of the overhead circle and landed on top of a power pole. Then he stretched out his wings, forming a cross. He held that position for quite a while, looking just like an eagle on top of a totem pole—except for his small, rather creepy red head.

September 22, 2003

Everybody is migrating or has already left. The white wings disappeared without my noticing, and the hummer population is definitely dwindling. The black chins seem to be gone, too, but a very small bird that has been feeding frequently at my office window feeder is possibly an immature black chin. He wags his tail when he feeds, and has a very faint circle around his throat. I can almost make out purplish.feathers in that band. There’s a broad bill who is so fat--presumably preparing to move on--that he looks like a blue and green feathered ping pong ball.

The activity around the seed feeder has also diminished--I am seeing far fewer cardinals of any age or sex. This may be because of the feeder itself. The only birds that ever mastered it were the finch and the genius young male cardinal. I left it open for a while, but the finch just perched up there and pulled out seed after seed, tossing them on the ground till he found one he liked. He would have emptied the whole thing several times a day if I let him. So I closed it, and now it can only be opened by cardinals (it works on a balance, so only birds of a certain weight can cause the door to open). Unfortunately, only Genius Boy ever figured it out--and he has gotten very good at it. First he hops onto the perch, facing to the right. Then he reverses position, facing left, and sticks his head way inside the opening. When he has a seed, he hops on top of the feeder to open and eat it. Then back to the perch, to repeat the whole operation. It actually looks kind of difficult, but he of all cardinals can have sunflower seeds now at any time of the day, no matter what the weather, with no competition.

When I go outside now to throw a few seeds on the ground for the less intelligent birds, I can always see that Genius Boy has been there, by the sunflower shells on top of the feeder.

September 9, 2003
Well, I had to lower the feeder to a couple of inches above the big flower pot I feed seeds in. Then I had to tape it open. A finch caught on very quickly, and even learned to use the perch. Then a woodpecker learned it, though didn’t get on the perch. The cardinals just kept looking around for seeds, occasionally pecking on the clear plastic sides of the feeder.

Finally, one of the young male cardinals put two and two together and figured it out. He has even learned to hop on the perch when the thing isn’t taped open. So far he’s the only one, though, and the finch seems very disappointed that his former trick no longer works.

Two male cardinals, including (I think) the young genius who knows how to use the feeder, have been traveling together. One is a full adult, the other still sort of splotchy and with his bill just starting to lighten. The weird thing is that the young one constantly begs to be fed when in the company of the adult, even using the baby whistling-teakettle whine. The even weirder thing is that the adult sometimes feeds him, and never drives him away. What an indulgent papa, and what a lucky young bird!

August 30, 2003
There hasn’t been too much activity for the last few days. I used to have a lot of migrating rufous by this time of year, but this year (and last) I haven’t seen any (except maybe a couple of glimpses). I’m sure it’s because so many trees in the neighborhood have been cut down. Very sad. (And we lost another mature mesquite a few days ago to a monsoon.)

On the other hand, there have been a lot of black chins, broad bills, and Anna’s, and the occasional sound of a broad tail. Most of these guys are fat and obviously just passing through.

A couple of days ago I heard (then saw) a mockingbird that seemed to be in distress. It’s way too late in the season for a baby to be down, and then I realized that this guy *was* a baby, or rather a juvenile (very short tail). His distress call was to his parents, to come feed him, which they have been doing pretty continually.

The biggest news is that we now have a cardinal feeder, but none of the cards has come even close to figuring it out, even though I have the lid off. A white wing figured it out right away, but those are the guys I’m most trying to keep away from the seeds. In the meantime, we continue to put seeds on the bench in the front patio, and the juveniles continue to eat them, growing more daring every day. Now if only they would notice the cornucopia of seeds practically in front of their beaks….

August 16, 2003
There is a beautiful blondish coyote we sometimes see when walking on the river walk. It looks well fed and its coat is thick and healthy-looking, unlike the scruffy, unkempt appearance of so many urban coyotes. We usually see it around 7 AM, trotting purposefully north from the brush to the south, then across the river walk and down the bank, across the river, and into the brush and scrub on the north side of the river bottom. I always assume it’s going home after a hard night of stalking and eating pet cats.

Anyway, we’ve had a lot of rain in the mountains, and yesterday the river was flowing. On our way back from our walk we saw the coyote just ahead, walking purposefully toward the river bank. It reached the bank, had one foot out to start down, then it did a double take and just stared into the torrent. It turned around and started to trot back where it came from, then turned again, and again approached the bank. Again it stared down into the water for a few moments, then finally gave up, returning to the scrubby deserty area to the south.

It was actually quite comical. You could almost see the thought balloons forming in the coyote’s head. “Whoa! What’s this?” Then, “No way, I must have imagined that.” Then, upon approaching the river again, “Yikes! That’s really water! What’s it doing there? …. Guess I’ll have to try again later.”

August 11, 2003
More dominance stuff: A beautiful mockingbird (to me, these two words go together), feeding off a grapefruit slice on top of the redwood planter, was approached by a towhee, who ran along the ground, looking up to see what was so interesting/delicious. The mocker merely gave the towhee a Look that apparently said, “I could peck you to death if I wanted to.” Without further ado, the towhee quickly retreated.

Lizards: I love lizards. They are so interesting to watch, and there are so many different kinds around here. For example, I love to watch the little geckos (almost certainly Mediterranean geckos, an introduced species) cling to the screens at night, waiting to catch bugs. When you turn on the porch light, you can see right through their skin and study their innards. The other day I saw a “horny toad” in the neighborhood, the first I have seen around here. I remember them well from my childhood. We used to believe that they could spit tobacco juice from their eyes. (Actually, they can expel blood from their eyes to frighten off predators.) Also I love to watch those guys that zip along the sand on their hind legs, tails in the air.

I actually just found out that the guys who run on their hind legs are collared lizards (the ones with blue bellies are spiny lizards). Walking along the wash the other day, I saw a collared lizard run up the side of the wash, across the path, and up another incline, faster than I could think. I started imagining that this is how birds might have gotten started--with some little dinosaurs that ran like the collared lizards. Maybe one day one of them ran like that to escape a predator. And maybe he just happened to have a mutation that gave him webbed fingers or very flat forelimbs. Anyway, maybe he just happened to soar a little ways--away from the startled and disappointed predator. Then he passed this useful trait on to his children, and so on….

I often wish I could have been around in the days of dinosaurs, to hear them. I’ll bet that a lot of them sounded like birds, with chirps and songs. There would also be raucous cries and roars. It must have been a wonderful cacophony.