“Good morning, Squeakers,” said Momanita. “Do you hear that?”
“I’m a cockatiel, not a rooster! Let me wake up. Or even better, let me go back to sleep.”
To other hootmans this sounded like squeals and whistles, but not to Momanita. She MOSTLY understood cockatiel speak. I MOSTLY understood hootman talk.
“Who do you think is making that sound?” Momanita asked.
Morning sunshine and a rapping noise filled the room. Unfortunately, now I was awake.
Momanita folded the blue cover pulled from my rolly home and tucked it into the drawer.
“It’s coming from the back.” Momanita peeked through the window into the yard.
“That’s not a SOUND! That’s a racket!”
The only noise I wanted to hear was the crinkling of the Cheerio bag when Momanita reached into the box for my morning snack.
“I wonder what it is,” said Momanita.
When Momanita wondered, she thought of questions.
When she thought of questions, she looked for answers.
When she looked for answers, she needed my help.
She unhooked the door of my rolly home and slid open the entrance to my writing nest. I climbed out of one and into the other.
“Let’s investigate.”
Instead of climbing the stairs to her writing loft as we usually did when she wondered, she opened the back door into the yard. We both followed the hammering sounds with our eyes.
“Ringo?” said Momanita. “What are you doing?”
Last winter Momanita and I watched Ringo, a downy woodpecker, stuff herself with suet hung in the backyard. A wire covering protected the peanut butter and oat block from squirrel raids, but allowed Ringo to feast.
“Ringo, stop that!”
Now she pecked at wren’s house! Woodchips sprinkled the ground as Ringo drilled. The tiny home swayed with each blow.
“You’ve ruined wren’s home,” said Momanita. “Now they won’t have a place to nest next spring.”
Twig by twig the wrens had created a nest in the house. Before long, mom and dad wren hunted creepy crawlies to feed their growing family of three. When fall arrived, the wren family left for a warmer home in the south.
“Ringo! Stop!”
But she didn’t. (Not everyone understood cockatiel speak.)
“We have to figure out why Ringo is destroying wren’s home,” said Momanita. “We have to figure out what’s going through her brain!”
Figuring out how to solve a problem took wondering. So, I knew we’d make our way to Momanita’s writing loft where I’d help.
“Maybe we can stop for a Cheerio or two?”
Cockatiels needed to keep up their strength! Momanita didn’t listen.
“If we learn more about Ringo, then we’ll know why she’s behaving this way,” said Momanita. She scooted her chair behind the computer and tapped the keyboard.
I settled on Momanita’s shoulder and concentrated on Ringo, but visions of Cheerios rolled through my brain.
Getting Wise To
“Ringo is a small female woodpecker – about nine inches,” said Momanita after reading a while. “Males have a red spot on the back of the head. Young downies have one on the top of the head. Females don’t have one at all.“
“My crest is more handsome than a red spot.”
I flicked my crest to make a point.
“The downy uses its tail and specially arranged toes, two forward and two back, to anchor while drumming with its beak,” said Momanita.
“Let’s find out about the drumming.”
The sooner we understood about the drumming, the sooner I’d munch on Cheerios.
Different Drummers
“The most familiar woodpecker sound is drumming,” said Momanita. “Rapping, tatting, and tattooing are other names for the noise they make when they pound with their beaks.
“I jingle your earrings with my beak. Can Ringo do that?”
I flipped Momanita’s shiny dangling earrings to remind her. She stroked my neck in return.
“Woodpeckers drum on hollow trees because they echo, but they also like rain gutters and trash cans,” said Momanita.
“Rain gutters would be noisier than a wren house.”
This reminded Momanita that we cockatiels are quiet neighbors (at least most of the time).
“Woodpeckers drum differently,” said Momanita. “Red headed woodpeckers drum more slowly and irregularly while the downy is a quick, continuous beat. Ringo taps about 15 raps per second.”
“My head hurts just thinking about it. Some Cheerios would help.”
“I wonder how they can beat their beaks against a hard surface and not injure themselves,” said Momanita and then she read some more.
Built For It
“Ringo’s sharp beak is like a chisel. It digs easily into a tree trunk,” said Momanita. “And the neck muscles are strong. Woodpeckers brace their necks and close their eyes before the impact.”
“My beak is curved, just perfect for gnawing on Cheerios.”
“Their brains are built for it, too,” said Momanita. “Ringo’s brain is small and doesn’t move around on impact like a human’s does. It’s long tongue also wraps around the back inside of its head. So that might add cushioning.”
“My tongue could wrap around a Cheerio right now.”
“So now we know HOW a woodpecker drums, but we need to know WHY Ringo is tatting on wren’s house,” said Momanita who tapped her keyboard.
Whys And Wherefores
“Woodpeckers drum for three reasons,” said Momanita, “shelter, food, and communication.”
“Even if Ringo could fit through the opening, wren’s house is too small for Ringo.”
“Woodpeckers prefer to drill out cavities in trees,” said Momanita. “So, we can cross off shelter.”
“Is she trying to send a message?”
Maybe Ringo drummed out woodpecker Morse Code that only other woodpeckers understood.
“Woodpeckers drum in the spring to claim territory and attract a mate,” said Momanita. “Why is she doing it in the fall?”
“Maybe she’s hungry. We birds DO like our snacks, hint, hint.”
“Woodpeckers drill into trees searching for insects,” said Momanita. “Then they catch them with their sticky, barbed tongue. There aren’t any insects in wren’s house.”
“A sticky, barbed tongue would help pick up the Cheerios that fell. Wait, there ARE no Cheerios!”
“Ringo didn’t do this last year,” said Momanita. She closed her laptop. “I wonder what’s different.”
“Maybe Ringo isn’t communicating to other woodpeckers. Maybe she’s communicating to YOU and you’re not listening.”
She wasn’t listening to me about the Cheerios.
“I know!” shouted Momanita.
Momanita swooped me into my writing nest, hurried downstairs, and plopped my nest onto the kitchen counter. Cabinets slammed and pans banged. Before long peanut butter and lard and cornmeal swirled around in a bowl.
“Ringo was searching for food AND communicating,” said Momanita as she spread the soft sticky concoction into a small pan. “By this time last fall, I had hung the suet feeder out. I bet Ringo is reminding me to do it again.”
I could see the Cheerios on top of the refrigerator. If I could drum, maybe Momanita would listen to me.
“Maybe when we’re done here. We could write about making suet for woodpeckers.”
I heard the crinkling of the Cheerio’s bag as Momanita reached into the box. I’d finally have my snack.
“Instead let’s write about how we all need reminders every so often.”
To other hootmans this sounded like squeals and whistles, but not to Momanita. She MOSTLY understood cockatiel speak. I MOSTLY understood hootman talk.
Check out Momanita’s book OPERATION HOPPER.
Momanita and I read about woodpeckers. You might want to read about them, too.
Link to informational article about the topic.
Anita Borgo 