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July 27, 2006  Red Hot Blues Early this spring, while house-sitting, I put up many bird boxes; some were intended to be used for the coming nesting season, others were hung temporarily just to get a reaction from the first returning Tree Swallows. A few days after hanging the houses I heard that one of the temporary boxes had attracted a pair of Mountain Bluebirds. That was the good news. The bad news was that the box had no ventilation and our current hot spell could possibly threaten the contents of the bird box. My goal with the bird boxes has always been to provide a house for wayward critters and to entertain myself at the same time - torturing birds was never my intention. I knew the bird box immediately, it was a slapdash, hastily contrived thing with no hinged door for clean-out and no drilled holes along the roofline to vent the hot air or invite the cool air. This particular box was one of several that I placed in the east pasture, on every second fence post, in the hopes of luring a passing Swallow or perhaps an inquisitive Bluebird. A number of Swallows did swoop down to investigate but only one box was used. The rest, including the box with the sweltering Bluebirds sat unoccupied and I forgot about them. The first thing that came to mind when told of the Bluebirds' plight were images from the movie "The Bridge on the River Kwai." I imagined opening the box only to have a wilted Bluebird step out, salute, and fall to the ground in a swoon. Luckily, I would be house-sitting there the next day, so I would get my chance to remedy the situation. As luck would have it, the weather changed dramatically; instead of scorching sun in the afternoons, low clouds drifted over and dropped soft waves of rain. These conditions prevailed for about a week, during which I glimpsed Bluebirds coming and going in the general vicinity of the box. Because the box was placed behind a thick Saskatoon shrub, I couldn't discern whether the birds actually entered the box or just passed by. Either way, knowing that the immediate threat was passed, I felt that unnecessary disturbances around the box could be postponed. About a week later it dawned on me that I hadn't seen either the male or female Bluebird around, so I crossed the road and leaned on the metal gate to better view the box in question. All was quiet. Perhaps the Bluebirds had abandoned the nest, or the heat had taken its toll. If they had vacated the box, now would be the time to remove it or modify it before any other tenants fell victim. I noted that four screws held on the top of the birdhouse and went to the shop for the cordless drill. Back at the birdhouse all was quiet. I inserted the drill bit into the first screw head and it threaded out smoothly, as did the next two. The last screw, with a stripped hole, was another story. The bird box bounced around on its hanger as I twisted the drill this way and that and pushed down hard to get purchase on the gaping hole, Finally the last screw withdrew but not before spinning the bird box roof in a complete circle. Finally I would know what secrets the bird box held. I leaned over the side to peer in and saw, much to my surprise, the male Bluebird standing defiantly over the contents of the nest and glaring up at me. My first thought was to move away swiftly but I couldn't leave the box without its roof. Standing to the side in case the Bluebird wanted to exit (it didn't) I replaced the roof and hoping to minimize further disturbance put back only two of the original four screws. Would the Bluebirds abandon the box after my noisy attack? I hoped they wouldn't. I could imagine the female returning to the nest somewhat later to find the distraught male suggesting he needed a stiff drink after the afternoon he'd just put in. To compensate for my intrusion I watched from far away, finally seeing the female and later the male engaged in what looked like the bringing of food to the young. I swore that I would now let all activity around the box settle into an almost boring domestic bliss. That vow lasted only a few days. The weather forecast in our area of the Cariboo area was for record-breaking temperatures. This news reminded me that nothing had yet been done about poor ventilation in the occupied bluebird box. Should I leave them to their fate or should I interfere again? I decided to interfere. Fortunately, during the two weather hot spells, I concocted a plan to ventilate the box. At first I wanted to just drill the vent holes which should have been drilled when the box was constructed. This activity however, would cover the nestlings with wood debris and result in a worse disturbance than the roof removal. The better plan would be to raise the roof by backing off the screws so there would be a gap between the top and sides of the box. Now that would be ventilation! The only drawback might be if the Bluebirds balked at the sudden daylighting of their box. Still I felt I had to go for it. All four screws would be needed to maintain stability with a raised roof. I returned to the box armed once again with a cordless drill and several different sized drill bits. Although all was quiet both Bluebirds were involved in feeding the young about every 5 minutes. I would have to hope they were out in the field and move quickly. Removal of the screws was challenging. I worked feverishly until the roof was removed then peaked inside the box and saw four half-grown Bluebird nestlings. They seemed rather calm despite the metallic gnawing of the drill. What was a little cordless drill noise compared to the sound of an unloaded cattle trailer passing not ten feet away from their nest box? Still I had to hurry with the adult birds due to arrive any time. I began the task of putting the roof back in place leaving an airy gap all around the roofline. If I had used all new, longer screws it would have made the job easier but here I was with the old short screws, few options, and time swiftly ticking by. Suddenly there was a flash of blue. The male Bluebird flew a circle around the box. Time had run out. I hastily made adjustments and fled the area. The next morning I watched the female Bluebird fly up to the power line above the fence and wipe a fecal sack onto the wire. It stuck there like a curd of cottage cheese. A fecal sack was a good sign that the nestlings were well. As I hoped, the bond between nestlings and adult Bluebirds was stronger than their fear of my series of disturbances. What a reception I had given the first ever Bluebirds to nest in one of my boxes. If word of beak is a form of communication among birds, it is likely that these will be the last sky blue tenants I will ever host. To e-mail Tom CLICK HERE To look at previous column "CLICK HERE |
