Issue date: August 26, 1998
By Art Sirota
They're greedy, noisy, obnoxious, vain, selfish and loud. But all year long I pretend to be their friend because they're the only predators in my backyard with insatiable appetites for earwigs and gypsy moth caterpillars.
They don't like to be called "scrub jays." I think it makes them feel too low class. They prefer loftier titles like "cardinal" or "stellar". They're famous for screaming loudly during early morning hours and shattering any semblance of peace and quiet. They've also developed a reputation as being "the Tyrannosaurus rex of the backyard" ever since the recent discovery that birds may be the last living descendants of the dinosaurs. It's true they love to raid nests of other birds and devour the eggs, but who are we to criticize their nature? There may indeed be one species on the planet today which is destroying the environment and spoiling the Earth for future generations, and it isn't the blue jay.
Every year about this time, the earwig population seems to explode. These quick little insects seem to pop-up under every leaf, rock, and plant. They are creepy, crawly, and have a nasty name which conjures up all sorts of spooky images in my head. So it is with great relief that I watch the local battalion of blue jays pry relentlessly under every possible hiding place in their quest for juicy, protein-rich earwigs.
There are lots of tall oak trees in my neighborhood, and every year all the neighbors used to hire a local tree spraying company to bring in their big trucks and pump poison on all the oak trees. This poison was supposed to kill all the millions of caterpillars which would eventually metamorphose into gypsy moths. But after a few years, the tiny caterpillars built up a resistance to the poison and actually began to enjoy eating the stuff. Also, the local birds who ate the dead caterpillars began to lay eggs with shells that were too soft. So when the government banned the use of the main ingredient used in the spray, you could actually hear the caterpillars laughing when the tree-spraying trucks drove down the street. It got so bad that taking a short walk in the backyard would result in a face full of silk threads.
So I purchased a birdbath. It wasn't one of those cheap, shallow, plastic ones, either. It was made of concrete, very heavy, and substantial looking. There was no chance that a strong wind might knock it over. The blue jays liked it right away because it seemed like an expensive one. They think they deserve the best.
Soon they began bathing in my backyard, splashing up a storm, and preening themselves afterward in a nearby fig tree. I had the cleanest blue jays in town. Then I started buying peanuts for them. I got in the habit of going out to the street in the early morning hours and whistling for them before the loud cars come zooming through the 25 m.p.h. zone at the speed of light. I got used to my neighbors giving me looks of pity and sympathy usually reserved for the criminally insane. I put up with the screams of blue jays as they flew away, peanut in beak, to boast of their accomplishment to jealous rivals. I learned to tolerate their terrifying dogfights over territorial disputes. I even endured the one I call "Peeping Tom" who learned to fly around my house in the early morning hours and peek inside the windows to see if I was awake yet so that he could get his peanut before any of the others.
I discovered each jay had a different personality. One was timid while another was brave. One might come down and take a sunflower seed from my hand while another could only watch jealously from a distant tree top and make a sound not unlike a ratchet wrench. I began to appreciate all the little stratagems they employ to defend their territory. Instead of diving down straightaway to get a peanut, they will often wait patiently for another blue jay to approach the treat and then dive down in loud attack to scare the surprised rival into full retreat. Then, after the territorial imperative has been satisfied, take the peanut like a conquering hero. Still, I cannot distinguish physically one blue jay from another. But that's all right; they probably can't tell us apart, either.
So all year I spend hard earned money on peanuts and sunflower seeds for my feathery blue friends. I conscientiously maintain the level of clean water in the birdbath. I put up with their rude behavior and shrill screams. But the earwigs and caterpillars are under control. It's payback time in my backyard. Copyright 1998 by Art Sirota, who lives in Portola Valley.
© 1998 The Almanac. All Rights Reserved.