Dear Mother (and occasionally, Father) Birds,
I am so sorry that I stressed you out while doing fieldwork. I swear to you I am just looking for frogs, and you do not have to worry about leading me away from your babies. Just let me know if I'm going to step on your nest and I will go around.
Please, allow me to make some individual apologies.
First, to the Yellow-headed Blackbirds on the Northern Range: you are gorgeous. I know I was stomping around in the sedges and your nests were in there, but I promise I was staying on the edge and sticking my net in the water, nowhere near your babies.
To the American Coot: you are an absolute badass. Completely terrifying. I didn't even know what I was looking at when you got angry at me, I thought some large water-mammal was coming for me. If I was your child, I would live in fear of being called by my full name by you. Your babies are well-protected.
To the Ruffed Grouse: first of all, that sound you make when you want to scare off a predator is LOUD. You nearly gave Luis a heart attack when you flew out of the underbrush behind him. I think you startled him more than when he saw the bear. So thank you, for giving me the opportunity to tell people he was attacked by a "chicken" (because we don't know what "grouse" is in Spanish).
To the Mother Bufflehead: I swear I was not following you. You were just swimming in the same direction I was going! I'm sorry I stressed you out. You decided to turn around and change directions and saw me. I know I was too close for comfort. You are brave though - I saw how you started to fly off to get your babies to move, but then you stayed behind them to keep yourself between me and them. And your babies seems like good little ducklings; they zoomed off so fast I could hear their tiny feet kick and they rode the water like mini jet skis! You've trained them well.
To the Sora: I was chasing a Columbia Spotted Frog and I must have been close to your nest. I heard you move, but I thought you were a small mammal and I probably got even closer, which you weren't happy about. I'm sorry I followed you for several steps - I could hear your delicate peeping and I wanted to know what you were. Thank you for allowing me a brief glimpse of your little yellow face - your kind are so secretive. That was truly a rare joy.
To the American Robin: your nest was so close to the road, we couldn't resist checking in on it to see how your eggs were coming along. We were delighted to see your nestlings, and so so sad a few weeks later to find your nest turned sideways. I am sorry for your loss; may your next clutch be more successful.
To the wrens and other bowl-nesting birds of the wetlands: your nests are incredible feats of construction. They are not at risk from me - I am focused on things down in the water, not up high in the grasses! Please, do not feel the need to scream at me as I walk by, I will leave your nest alone.
To the many mother ducks: I am sorry I do not know what species you all were! My female duck ID is subpar and you move very fast. But I know I startled many of you while traipsing around wetlands and it was not my intention at all. I feel bad you left your nests unattended. I promise I didn't step on any of them, though I did take a photo or two! I now understand why ducks get to lay so many eggs in Wingspan.
To the Killdeer pair: I do not think we were anywhere near your eggs! We just stopped to eat lunch, but we were clearly too close for comfort. I'm sorry you were stressed out for the duration of our meal, but thank you for posing for some pictures!
To all the nesting birds I have accidentally startled on my quest for frogs, my deepest most sincere apologies.
Sincerely,
A Field Biologist
P.S. I know in science we stress the importance of not anthropomorphizing animals and their behavior. I find it hard not to, which is part of why I don't explicitly study animal behavior. I don't think I would be able to observe animals objectively enough to record go
od behavioral data. A large part of why I do what I do is that I see animals as beings that deserve to live their lives without us making them unnecessarily more difficult, painful, or stressful. I genuinely feel bad every time we flush a grouse or a duck or another bird on accident, and I wish there was a way I could communicate to each mother bird that it doesn't need to fake a wing injury and lead me away from its nest. I'm happy to admire its eggs briefly (if I even see them) and move on, watching my step the whole way. The areas we get to work in, in Grand Teton and Yellowstone National Parks, are not areas frequented by many humans. Probably no tourists go where we go, and only a handful of other biologists. The experience of having us clumsy, noisy humans walking through (or stumbling, tripping, falling through in my case), yelling loudly to scare off bears, has to be stressful. I don't take these opportunities to see nests, eggs, and baby birds for granted; these incidental wildlife encounters are one of the joys of fieldwork, but I am always left feeling slightly guilty for disturbing them (however briefly and unintentionally)!
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