Sketch and story by Tom Godin,
October 26, 2000

Do birds get ill? Of course they do! Recently, I spoke with friends who are concerned about a condition affecting some Evening Grosbeaks that appear at their feeder. The sick birds become less and less active until they end up sitting on the ground. Although the birds are still able to fly if bothered by a dog or cat, they just sit in a kind of stupor until they die.

Siskins and Evening Grosbeaks are the only species, at my feeder, which get this condition. Afflicted birds sit on the feeder in a hunched position with feathers greatly fluffed up. They dodder about as if they can't stand upright. They appear to have a constant appetite but often look messy with seed bits stuck to their beaks. If pressed by the arrival of a squirrel they fly off and perch on a nearby tree. Eventually they start to sleep on the feeder in broad daylight and lose their sense of self-preservation. Some die on the feeder and others just disappear.

Not having an extensive knowledge of bird diseases, I e-mailed Dick Canning. Mr. Canning can be heard on CBC radio where he speaks on the topic of birds and answers bird related questions. Dick Canning replied saying this sounded like salmonella poisoning. He explained that this is not unusual, some birds get this disease every year and it doesn't have a long-term effect on the numbers of the afflicted species. He suggested that as a preventative measure, people should keep their feeders as free as possible from bird feces. Because Siskins often feed on the ground under feeders where droppings are likely to be found, they tend to get Salmonella more often than other feeder birds.

First Snow

October 22 dawned grey and damp with less than an inch of snow on the ground. This was the first snowfall of the season in the vicinity of 100 Mile House, although all week I have heard of snow in the surrounding higher country.

I always enjoy this sort of morning for a saunter through the creek side landscape. So I walked by way of Centennial Park with the idea of heading to the old sewer lagoon. I found several songbird nests in the willows along the path; nests, which had been hidden this past summer, were now quite visible with all the leaves gone.

A female Barrow's Goldeneye and a mallard were the only ducks in the park.

Muskrats appeared at each turn of the creek.

As I reached the dike of the lagoon I heard a melodious bird call coming from the banks of the creek. Since I was heading that way, I hoped the singer would hang about.

A large raptor sat on a dead treetop on the far side of the dike. At first it looked like an Osprey - its head was pale with a dark colouration across the nape area and through the eyes. Then I noticed that it had company, a Bald Eagle. These two rarely sit in close proximity to one another so I took another look at the Osprey. It was an immature Eagle with a strange whitish head but with a mask-like marking as I described above.

In order to draw nearer to the melodious bird, I forded Little Bridge Creek and climbed a sloping bank. I saw the singer atop a pine tree. It was a male Pine Grosbeak calling intermittently. Its sound reminded me of a budgie. "Pretty, pretty." It said. Then followed that with the phrase "Dumped in a heap."

I find it useful to imagine birds uttering sentences or words. This gives me an idea of the length and nature of its call. These two calls were repeated strongly now as I watched another bird coming in to land. It was a female Pine Grosbeak. They were high above me but I could make out their beautiful markings. The male was a rosy red on grey with black and white marked wings. The female had touches of yellow on its head with a grey body.

I continued to walk along the creek. A soft birdcall made me look up. Just in front of me both the Pine Grosbeaks had landed atop a short fir tree. It appeared as though they were giving me another chance to admire them, which I could very easily do now. Pine Grosbeaks stay in this area all winter long so this small snowfall would be taken in stride.

As I watched the Grosbeaks I heard a Robin. Its call seemed aggravated and strident. "Time to move on, Mr. Robin." I whispered under my breath. The snow on this mild October morning was just a little warning.

On October 24 at the 100 Mile Marsh I saw a Long-billed Dowitcher, a late season straggler, most shorebirds have already departed for lower altitude and southern climes.