Tag: wild profile

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Cottage Life

Wild Profile: Meet the black-footed ferret

By Kerry Hargrove/Shutterstock

What’s the black-footed ferret’s claim to fame? This mammal has the distinction of being the only ferret species native to North America. (Pet ferrets are not native. Experts believe they likely descended from polecats in Europe.) It’s also—unfortunately—famous for its historically non-existent numbers in its prairie home range. Now, thanks to recovery efforts, there’s a Canadian wild ferret population in Saskatchewan’s Grasslands National Park. It’s not big, but it’s something.

Is the black-footed ferret endangered?

Yes. In fact, they’re considered one of the most endangered mammals in North America. In the 1970s, officials listed the species as “Extirpated”, that is, gone from a specific geographical location but not extinct. No one had spotted a ferret in the wild since 1937. Then, in 1981, a Wyoming farmer came across a small population (his dog led him to it—good puppy!). This launched a series of reintroduction programs across the continent.

What’s in the black-footed ferret’s diet? 

They may be small, but this ferret is scrappy enough to take on prairie dogs (not that much smaller). These rodents are the “obligate” carnivore’s main food source—they can make up to 90 per cent of a ferret’s diet—a factor that contributed to the black-footed ferret decline. Since prairie dogs dig burrows in fields where crops grow, there were plenty of reasons for folks to want them gone. And, even though native ferrets also eat mice, squirrels, and ground-nesting birds, losing such a huge part of their diets when many prairie dogs were exterminated had a big impact. (Actions have consequences, people! Happily, we know this now.)

Black-footed facts of life

Female ferrets don’t ovulate until right before breeding season. This starts as early as the end of January, but peaks in March and April. After about 45 days, a mama ferret gives birth to a litter—usually three or four kits. This happens underground, in a repurposed prairie dog burrow (another reason why the species is dependent on prairie dogs). Babies learn to be strong hunters by chasing each other, simulating attacks on pretend prey, and watching adult black-footed ferrets. Each one, teach one! We’re rooting for you, little ferrets.

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Cottage Life

Wild Profile: Meet the American woodcock

By Lindaimke/Shutterstock

Have you heard of the woodcock? What about the timberdoodle? It’s the same bird. The same, strange-looking bird. Spring is a key time for the plump, stubby-necked avian. With its bizarre preportions—look at that long beak—it’s hard to imagine that the woodcock would be a strong flier. But it is. And beginning in March, males take to the skies to woo their future lady loves with astonishing courtship flights.

What does the woodcock sound like?

About 20 minutes after sundown in early spring, male woodcocks start to call to the ladies: peent, peent, peent. It’s nasal and buzzy, and audible from more than 200 metres away. A male will repeat the sound every few seconds for a couple of minutes, then launch into the air, spiralling through the sky 100 metres up. Then he abruptly hurtles back to earth, flying in a zigzag pattern. He repeats this aerial dance about a dozen times, and does the same thing again at dawn, for two months. That’s dedication.

What do woodcocks eat?

The woodcock isn’t nearly as fancy-footed on the ground, but it does move in an unusual way. While foraging—for beetle grubs, maggots, and millipedes—the robin-sized bird camouflages with its surroundings thanks to its buff, brown, and black feathers. It bobs back and forth, shifting its weight from foot to foot as it uses its upper bill to probe the leaf litter. The upper bill has a flexible, serrated tip that’s full of blood vessels. The woodcock uses it to detect the vibrations of critters in the soil—mostly earthworms, a staple food. Experts think the bird’s back-and-forth movement is intentional, to encourage worms to burrow deeper, and therefore, make noise that the woodcock can “hear”. Sneaky trick!

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Cottage Life

Wild Profile: Meet the greater yellowlegs

By Brian Lasenby/Shutterstock

The greater yellowlegs has—wait for it—yellow legs. Good call, whoever gave this shorebird its common name. In March, the migratory bird begins to come home from winter U.S. digs in brackish wetlands, mudflats, flooded fields, and, ugh, sewage ponds, headed to Canada’s boreal wetlands and damp meadows. Greater yellowlegs parents seem to prefer shallow water and shrubby ponds where they can safely raise their kids. Who wouldn’t? During breeding season, the birds will sometimes fly up to and then perch on trees to watch for predators.

The greater yellowlegs vs the lesser yellowlegs

The greater yellowlegs walks with a high-stepping gait, its limbs flashing. Its cousin species, the lesser yellowlegs looks (no surprise) almost identical. But the greater bird is literally greater—that is, larger—with a longer, thicker bill. Side-by-side, most folks could see the difference, but when each bird is solo, it can be hard for anyone but an experienced birder to ID each yellowlegs.

What does this bird sound like? 

The greater yellowlegs’ screechy alarm call is one reason why birdwatchers don’t love this guy. It tends to scare away other shorebirds, so its nicknames are “tattler” and “yelper.” The most common call is a chirpy, ringing cry: tew tew tew. (It sounds, at least to some people, that the bird is saying its name: “yel-low-legs”). If you want to hear the bird in real life, be prepared to spend some time in boggy areas. When it’s dry, head to muddy reservoirs or lakes; when it’s wet, you can spot them in flooded fields. Adult birds also tend to wade into deeper water compared to other sandpipers—one reason that birders call the greater yellowlegs a “marshpiper.”

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Cottage Life

Wild Profile: Meet the Richardson’s ground squirrel

By Ryguyryguy74/Shutterstock

Unless you’re very familiar with plains-dwelling animals, you’d probably never peg the Richardson’s ground squirrel as a relative of the red squirrel or the grey squirrel. These mammals look much more like gophers or small prairie dogs. And they behave more like both: “ground squirrel” is an incredibly apt common name given how much of their lives these critters spend underground! (It’s a lot—see below.)

Ground squirrels vs. tree squirrels 

The species was named after the Scottish naturalist Sir John Richardson. Looks-wise, they have larger bodies but much smaller tails than their tree squirrel relatives. (Tree squirrels need bushy tails to help with balance.) A ground squirrel’s skinny tail is almost constantly twitching, like a tiny whip—it’s one reason why they’re nicknamed “flickertails.” Their ears, meanwhile, are so flat that they appear mashed into either side of the head.

When do they hibernate?  

The Richardson’s ground squirrel spends up to eight months hibernating. Adults emerge from their dens—in Canada, dug into open meadows and plains in the prairie provinces—between February and March. They return underground by mid-June at the latest. Juvenile squirrels spend a little less time in hibernation—between five and seven months. But even when the squirrels are not hibernating, they’re still only aboveground for eight to 10 hours of the day. An individual Richardson’s ground squirrel spends a mere 15 per cent of its existence on the surface. (Imagine living 85 per cent of your life in the basement.)

Ground squirrel dens provide digs for other prairie dwellers

Richardson’s ground squirrel burrows play an important role in the lives of other denning creatures. Mice, voles, burrowing owls, badgers—they enlarge the holes to suit their bigger bodies—plus salamanders and invertebrates repurpose empty dens. Even bumblebees nest in ground squirrel homes.

When do ground squirrels reproduce? 

Squirrels mate soon after they emerge from hibernation in early spring. Females all give birth around the same time, so the population explodes all at once. But it can crash just as quickly: mortality is especially high with this species, thanks to prairie predators such as hawks, falcons, eagles, weasels, and rattlesnakes. About 50 to 70 per cent of babies don’t live long enough to reproduce (at about a year old). Despite this, it’s common to spot both adults and babies in Manitoba, Saskatchewan, and Alberta—at least, it’s more common to spot them than it is to spot other grassland mammals. They’re bold, and will happily approach people, looking for handouts. Cheeky!

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Cottage Life

Wild Profile: Meet the boreal chickadee

By Romeo Andrei Cana/Shutterstock

Look, it’s a black-capped chickadee! No, wait, it’s a boreal chickadee. Every Canadian can recognize the former, and its calls. But the lesser-known boreal chickadee has the same tiny body, big head, and round belly. (Adorbs.) Look carefully, though, and you’ll note the differences between the two species. The boreal chickadee has a brown cap, and darker, cinnamon-coloured sides. (Why isn’t it called the brown-capped chickadee? Good question.)

Where does the boreal chickadee live?

In North America, this songbird sticks almost exclusively to spruce and fir forests in Canada, and a few neighbouring states, such as Alaska. You can find these chickadees in almost every province, and, like black-caps, they don’t migrate (though they’ll move slightly south in the winter if there are food shortages). They prefer to feed off older trees. They’ll cling to tree cones, and poke around with their beaks to get at seeds or bugs. Their short bills are also tough enough to loosen tree bark and uncover insect eggs and larvae.

What does the boreal chickadee sound like? 

The species produces a call that’s similar to its black-capped cousin’s, but it’s a little rougher and harsher, less sweet and melodic: tschick-a-dee-dee. Like other birds, boreals have all kinds of vocalizations, for alarm, warning, courtship, and aggression—everything from a low gargle to a twitter to a series of short chirps and squeals. Still, it’s a lot less chatty than the black-capped chickadee—one reason why some birders consider the boreal reclusive. And unlike our other chickadee species, the boreal chickadee doesn’t vocalize to announce its breeding territory. (For such a wee bird this can be a large chunk of real estate: up to 13 acres.) Instead, to scare off intruders, males will use a chin-up motion, or a “ruffle display”: they puff up their feathers and wings. Oh, stop frontin’, chickadee. Just kidding. We know that you’re tough.

Are they endangered? 

Because boreal chickadees have a more remote and northern range than many other bird species, it’s hard for experts to monitor their numbers. Still, one survey estimated that population increased by 38 per cent between 1970 and 2017, and according to the North American Breeding Bird Survey, their numbers appear stable. So even though a lot of avian species are struggling, the future looks bright for this bird.

 

 

 

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Cottage Life

Wild Profile: Meet the muskox

By Fitawoman/Shutterstock

The muskox is one modern-day mammal that looks a little like it just stepped out of a prehistoric museum diorama. Its shaggy fur could rival a woolly mammoth’s! This is of course because muskoxen live most of their lives in Ice Age-like conditions on the Arctic tundra. So, -40°C temperatures, wind, and blowing snow? Not a problem.

Clothing made from muskox wool is really, really warm

A muskox’s coat is made up of two layers: a woolly layer, close to the skin, and an outer hairy layer. Muskoxen wool is eight times warmer than sheep’s wool but finer than cashmere. The outer layer of hair, meanwhile, is longer than any other North American mammal’s. It’s coarse, and protects the insulating wool layer. A muskox doesn’t keep all this fur year-round; in midsummer, it sheds the insulating undercoat.

A muskox is not an ox

Despite the name, these mammals are not oxen. And even though they look like a hairier version of a bison—humped shoulders, short legs—they’re actually most closely related to goats and sheep. Both male and female muskoxen grow horns. Their horns are very similar; a bull’s are thick, and almost fuse together in a solid mass on the forehead. Females have a patch of fur that separates each (skinnier) horn. But either way, the horns are razor sharp. Muskoxen use them in defence, and, along with their giant heads, to smash through crusty snow cover. Snowplow? What’s a snowplow?

What do they eat?

During winter, muskoxen roam about in mixed herds. In the high Arctic, temperatures stay below -18°C for about eight months of the year, and it’s mostly dark between November and February. But muskox don’t care! The only conditions these beasts consider disruptive are massive blizzards. In this situation, a muskox will lie down with its back to the wind, and wait it out. Muskoxen head into winter with generous fat stores to help sustain them through the cold. Beyond that, they’ll target low-lying valleys—the snow is usually less deep there—and dig down to get at willows, sedges, and grasses. They have an excellent sense of smell, powerful enough to sniff out the buried vegetation.

What’s their population in Canada? 

We have about 85,000 muskoxen. Not bad, given that they were once nearly extinct. They’ve been under government protection since 1917. (Even though they only have one predator—the wolf—human hunting didn’t do the population any favours.) And they’re certainly worth preserving: they’ve been around for a long time. Experts believe the muskox crossed over via the Bering Strait about 90,000 years ago.

 

Categories
Cottage Life

Wild Profile: Meet the muskox

By Fitawoman/Shutterstock

The muskox is one modern-day mammal that looks a little like it just stepped out of a prehistoric museum diorama. Its shaggy fur could rival a woolly mammoth’s! This is of course because muskoxen live most of their lives in Ice Age-like conditions on the Arctic tundra. So, -40°C temperatures, wind, and blowing snow? Not a problem.

Clothing made from muskox wool is really, really warm

A muskox’s coat is made up of two layers: a woolly layer, close to the skin, and an outer hairy layer. Muskoxen wool is eight times warmer than sheep’s wool but finer than cashmere. The outer layer of hair, meanwhile, is longer than any other North American mammal’s. It’s coarse, and protects the insulating wool layer. A muskox doesn’t keep all this fur year-round; in midsummer, it sheds the insulating undercoat.

A muskox is not an ox

Despite the name, these mammals are not oxen. And even though they look like a hairier version of a bison—humped shoulders, short legs—they’re actually most closely related to goats and sheep. Both male and female muskoxen grow horns. Their horns are very similar; a bull’s are thick, and almost fuse together in a solid mass on the forehead. Females have a patch of fur that separates each (skinnier) horn. But either way, the horns are razor sharp. Muskoxen use them in defence, and, along with their giant heads, to smash through crusty snow cover. Snowplow? What’s a snowplow?

What do they eat?

During winter, muskoxen roam about in mixed herds. In the high Arctic, temperatures stay below -18°C for about eight months of the year, and it’s mostly dark between November and February. But muskox don’t care! The only conditions these beasts consider disruptive are massive blizzards. In this situation, a muskox will lie down with its back to the wind, and wait it out. Muskoxen head into winter with generous fat stores to help sustain them through the cold. Beyond that, they’ll target low-lying valleys—the snow is usually less deep there—and dig down to get at willows, sedges, and grasses. They have an excellent sense of smell, powerful enough to sniff out the buried vegetation.

What’s their population in Canada? 

We have about 85,000 muskoxen. Not bad, given that they were once nearly extinct. They’ve been under government protection since 1917. (Even though they only have one predator—the wolf—human hunting didn’t do the population any favours.) And they’re certainly worth preserving: they’ve been around for a long time. Experts believe the muskox crossed over via the Bering Strait about 90,000 years ago.

 

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Cottage Life

Wild Profile: Meet the crossbill

By Harold Stiver/Shutterstock

The crossbill is a shining example of a bird with a bill that’s especially adapted to how the species lives and feeds. The tips of a crossbill’s beak literally cross, in a bizarre and dramatic overbite. Quick, get this bird some braces! No: the misalignment allows these avians to expertly snip cones from trees and, holding them in one claw, lever the scales open to expose the seeds. They then use their tongues to pull out the seeds. 

What’s up with the bills?

Although plenty of birds have evolved bills to help them feed—the brown creeper, with its tweezers; the hummingbird, with its nectar-sucking syringe—a crossbill’s mouthpiece is particularly useful. A lot of bird food sources run low in the winter, but not for Mr. Crisscross. Conifer trees have plenty of cones all season long—no matter how frigid or snowy the weather. And since most birds don’t have the beaks (or the skills) to feed off cones…well, all the more for the red crossbill!

What do they look like?

Only the male red crossbill is actually red; females are yellow. They tend to forage in flocks, moving from one tree to another in a flurry of colour and noise. Crossbills can be as small as black-capped chickadees or as large as brown-headed cowbirds. There’s so much variation because North America has roughly ten different “types” of the species. (Experts, for the most part, don’t consider them subspecies.) Their beaks all vary slightly depending on the specific cones that they eat. Eastern Canada’s most common crossbill, for example, prefers pine and white spruce.

Why are crossbills noisy?

A red crossbill pair breeds in late summer, but, if the cone supply is plentiful, Mom and Dad will produce another two broods—even nesting and incubating eggs in the winter. Red crossbills will happily nest close to one another in areas thick with cones. As a species, they’re very social and generally good at sharing; ornithologists suspect that they call to one another while foraging to convey info about the quality of cones and seeds that they’re finding. This allows the flock to forage more efficiently—and that’s good for the species in general.

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Cottage Life

Wild Profile: Meet the wolverine

By Popova Valeriya/Shutterstock

The wolverine may be part of the weasel family, but it’s almost bear-like in its looks. And, in its clever survival behaviour. Wolverines are smart enough to target winter trap lines and successfully steal the bait. This mustelid is ferocious and always hungry—for almost anything. It’s the only carnivore that will eat the bones of its prey.

Where does it live? 

Most wolverines stick to the Western boreal forests of North America, and, in Canada, the wild alpine areas of Alberta and B.C. (They do carve out habitat in other provinces, including Ontario, Manitoba, and Saskatchewan.) They’re tough customers, and well-suited to winter, with fur-covered paws to traipse snowshoe-style over deep snow. Although they’ll take down plenty of live prey (again, not picky—they’ll even eat porcupines, ow), in winter, they primarily scavenge. A wolverine will happily chow down on the cold corpses of large mammals (deer, moose) that have died from starvation or frozen to death. The sneakiest will track other carnivores such as wolves and lynx, then steal their unattended leftovers. Not very neighbourly, wolverine!

When do wolverines give birth? 

Wolverines only reproduce every two or three years. A mother-to-be is plucky enough to bed down in a den by February—usually underneath a frozen pile of rocks—and have her babies even in the depths of winter. She’ll often only produce a few kits in a litter.

Are they endangered? 

Wolverines are listed as a species of special concern. Even though many live much farther north than other mammals, they’re still vulnerable to human encroachment, especially backcountry recreation. According to the Species at Risk Public Registry, wolverine numbers have also dwindled in response to losing certain ungulate prey, in particular, the threatened woodland caribou.

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Cottage Life

Wild Profile: Meet the ptarmigan

By Carrie Olson/Shutterstock

Think of the ptarmigan as a kind of winter-hardy chicken. The alpine-dwelling bird, part of the grouse family, has feathered feet, the better for walking on snow, and plumage well-adapted to keeping it camouflaged year-round. North America has three species of ptarmigan (taar-muh-gnn): the rock ptarmigan, the willow ptarmigan, and the white-tailed ptarmigan (pictured). They’re all chunky-bodied, with short tails, legs, and wings.

What’s unique about this bird?

In winter, all three species are nearly snow white. Unlike other birds, they go through three plumage changes during the year. (Other species typically have only breeding plumage in spring and summer, and their drabber, non-breeding colours come winter.) As the snow starts to melt, ptarmigans begin to moult their white feathers into a barred pattern, starting from the head and progressing towards the tail. By mid-summer, males and females look nearly identical. Then, as the summer turns to fall, both turn more and more grey. The process is barely complete before the birds begin moulting back to white again.

How do they survive winter?

Winter is a lean time for the ptarmigan. Food sources are low, and the birds are limited to the few plants growing above the snow—they eat the seeds, buds, and twigs of low shrubs. Willow ptarmigans, in particular, are very good at balancing on spindly branches of higher shrubs to get at the catkins and other goodies. The rock ptarmigan, on the other hand, prefers to scratch down into the snow to get at buried vegetation such as purple saxifrage. This avian is also smart enough to take advantage of the craters dug by caribou and muskoxen. Interestingly, research shows that each ptarmigan species has evolved a slightly different bill size and shape to allow it to successfully feed through the winter.

But can they fly?

In the spring, ptarmigan chicks hatch in their shallow nests; it can take an entire day for a baby to break out of its shell. Then, it eats its own yolk sac for protein. Uh, yum? Within a few days, chicks can scurry, mouse-like, along the ground. By the time they’re a week old, they can fly—though they’re very clumsy. They get better at it, of course. (Less chicken-like.) Flying skills become especially important for our northern-dwelling adult rock ptarmigans. Some migrate as far as 800 km in a year, making them the most nomadic of the grouse species.