Nuisance animals

Two days ago, we visited the Minnesota Zoo. I was snapping pictures of the wild boar (Sus scrofa) in the excellent "Russia's Grizzly Coast" exhibit, when I overheard a fellow visitor saying, "It's just like someone in Poland watching Canada geese." This was followed by some chatter between other members of that group in what sure sounded like Polish - and I've lived in metro Chicago long enough to know a Slavic language when I hear one. I couldn't help but chuckle to myself when I heard this, because she was absolutely right. In both the Twin Cities and Chicago regions, Canada geese (Branta canadensis) are a nuisance. They may even qualify as vermin in some areas.

In high school gym class, we played touch football - which, as you might expect, was touch football in name only - on the practice football field, out at the furthest corner of school grounds. Whenever it was not occupied by bellowing adolescents, the field was preferred grazing area for an apparently non-migratory flock of geese. It was there that I learned the true meaning of the expression, "like crap through a goose." I doubt there was a single square yard on that field that was completely free of green-and-white turd-cylinders. By the time gym class moved indoors for the winter, my gym shirt - which got washed once a semester, whether it needed it or not - had enough green splotches on it to qualify as military-grade camouflage.

The fouling of the world by these winged crap factories doesn't end there. Oocytes of such infamous nasties as Giardia and Cryptosporidium [1, 2], as well as possible human hazards in the Heliobacter genus [3] are transmitted in goose crap. Consequently, feeding geese is discouraged in many places, as evidenced by the sign at left, seen on the Minneapolis riverfront a few years ago.

The important distinction here is that the nuisance geese are so-called resident geese. Resident geese don't migrate in any serious way, preferring to stay year-round in the cushy environment of suburban office park ponds and other areas with mowed lawns and easy access to water. Officially, the US Fish & Wildlife Service "... identifies 'resident Canada geese' as those that nest within the lower 48 States in the months of March, April, May, or June, and that reside within the lower 48 States in the months of April, May, June, July, and August [4]."Migratory geese tend to fly to sub-arctic Canada and Alaska in the summer to nest and are found in the contiguous 48 States only in the spring, summer, and fall [5].

Significantly, US FWS notes that "Canada geese normally return to the same breeding areas and no evidence presently exists documenting inter-breeding between Canada geese nesting within the lower 48 States and those subspecies nesting in northern Canada and Alaska [4]." That makes the distinction easier. Migratory geese are not the problem, and should continue to be protected under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act. Resident geese are the ones who chase children in parks and turn sidewalks into little green minefields.

Likewise, in many parts of the world, wild and feral pigs (both are really same species, Sus scrofa) can be a nuisance, particularly in areas where they are not native. For example, feral pigs are currently wreaking havoc in such diverse locations as Hawai'i and Great Smoky Mountains National Park, as their rooting causes soil erosion. Nevertheless, I was surprised to see what handsome and interesting animals the wild pigs at the zoo were. They are also BIG - they must be at least three and a half feet tall at the shoulder. No wonder medieval European hunters were afraid of them.

They're not dumb brutes, though. Pigs are smart, and they seem to be social creatures, as evidenced by the spooning swine at left. They vocalize a lot, too, especially for ungulates.

The important thing, though, is that it's all about context. If I lived somewhere where feral pigs are a nuisance, I wouldn't be at all interested in these Russian boars at the zoo; they would be just like resident Canada geese - somewhere between "uninteresting" and "vermin."

A related topic for another time: the contrast in awesomeness between the closely-related Canada goose (Branta canadensis), my opinion of which is clear from above, and the nēnē or Hawaiian goose (Branta sandvicensis), which I hold in high esteem.

References -

[1] T. Graczyk, R. Fayer, J. Trout, E. Lewis, C. Farley, I. Sulaiman, A. Lal (1998). "Giardia sp. cysts and infectious Cryptosporidium parvum oocysts in the feces of migratory Canada geese (Branta canadensis)." Applied and Environmental Microbiology 64:7.

[2] H. Kassa, B. Harrington, M. Bisesi (2004). "Cryptosporidiosis: A brief literature review and update regarding Cryptosporidium in feces of Canada geese (Branta canadensis)." Journal of Environmental Health 66:7.

[3] J. Fox, N. Taylor, S. Howe, M. Tidd, S. Xu, B. Paster, F. Dewhirst (2006). "Helicobacter anseris sp. nov. and Helicobacter brantae sp. nov., isolated from feces of resident Canada geese in the greater Boston area." Applied and Environmental Microbiology 72:7.

[4] US Fish & Wildlife Service. "Resident Canada goose management: Questions and answers." Division of Migratory Birds report. Retrieved from http://www.fws.gov/migratorybirds/issues/cangeese/Draft_EIS/Q&A%27s2.htm on December 28, 2008.

[5] US Fish & Wildlife Service (2002). "Resident Canada geese populations." Division of Migratory Birds report. Retrieved from http://www.fws.gov/northeast/migratorybirds/canada_geese.pdf.

My Christmas pheasant

A ring-necked pheasant (Phasianus colchicus) hen scampered through the in-laws' back yard in Hennepin County, Minnesota, on Christmas morning.

I know they're not a native species, but I still think they're neat.

It's pretty much my favorite lagomorph

This started as a run-of-the-mill "critters with which I'm obsessed" post, but that changed this afternoon at a gas station just west of Oconomowoc, when I got a "so much for global warming" lecture while standing at a urinal. This upset me for two reasons: first, the fact that the air temperature in Jefferson County, Wisconsin was hovering around 0°F does not disprove the notion of anthropogenic climate change, and second - and more importantly - I really prefer to be left alone while doing my business.

Anyway, following a family trip to Rocky Mountain National Park many years ago, I left with the perception that the yellow-bellied marmot (Marmota flaviventris, which pretty much literally means "yellow-bellied marmot" in Latin) was pretty awesome. These charismatic sciurids have an entertaining way of lumbering about the talus piles. The American pika (Ochotona princeps), a neighboring rodent seemed lame by comparison. What could they possibly do to be as interesting as marmots?

The answer, unsurprisingly, came from David Attenborough's The Life of Mammals. It turns out that pikas are totally sweet in their own right. First of all, these quarter-pound rodents are compellingly handsome, as shown in the National Park Service photo at left. The ears belie their kinship with rabbits (lagomorphs) rather than ground squirrels (sciurids), as one might otherwise expect.

More importantly, though, their habits are extraordinarily well-suited to the harsh alpine tundra. As Sir David points out, during the short alpine growing season, the pikas "literally make hay while the sun shines" - that is, they gather vegetation, let it dry in the sun, and then hoard it for the winter. But it gets better still: some plants are toxic, so the pikas hoard these plants such that they are available for feeding later in the winter when the toxins have (apparently) decomposed.

Here's where the guest lecture from Professor Urinal comes in: the pika's special adaptations may make it vulnerable to rising temperatures. Noting that pikas are really leftovers from the Pleistocene ice age, researchers at the US Geological Survey [1,2] have found evidence that pikas aren't so much mountain critters as they are cold-weather critters. Apparently, exposure to shade temperatures above 78° F for as little as six hours can be fatal to pikas, "if they are caged on the surface of talus and thus deprived of their behavioral mechanisms to avoid stressful temperatures [1]." 78 degrees! That's when people might unbutton their top buttons, but these little guys freaking die!

For this reason, coverage of the USGS report by The Guardian bore the grim headline "American pika doomed as 'first mammal victim of climate change.'"

The American pika isn't alone: a 2005 study by a Sino-Arizonan team found similar results for the Ili pika (Ochotona iliensis), which is native to the Tian Shan Mountains of China's Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region [3].

So, save the pika, and let me pee in peace.

References:

1. Erik Beever (2002). "Persistence of pikas in two low-elevation national monuments in the western United States." US Geological Survey Forest and Rangeland Ecosystem Science Center, Corvallis, Oregon. Full text retrieved from Yosemite.org.
   
2. Erik Beever, Peter Brussard, and Joel Bergera (2005). "Patterns of apparent extirpation among isolated populations of pikas (Ochotona princeps) in the Great Basin." Journal of Mammalogy 84:1.
   
3. Li Wei-Dong and Andrew Smith (2005). "Dramatic decline of the threatened Ili pika Ochotona iliensis (Lagomorpha: Ochotonidae) in Xinjiang, China." Oryx 39:1.
   

Flags: State of Arizona

I'll begin the state flags series with my favorite, the copper-colored banner of the State of Arizona. According to the Arizona State Capitol Museum web site, the thirteen alternating red and yellow rays represent the original thirteen colonies, the red and yellow flag of the Spanish conquistadors, and the western sun. The copper-colored star reminds us that the Grand Canyon State is the nation's leading producer of copper. Finally, the bottom half of the flag is the same shade as the union on the US flag.

More importantly, though, it just looks good. It's distinctive, visually appealing, and it complements the national flag nicely.

The awesomeness of Arizona's state symbols doesn't end there, though:

• The state mammal is the ringtail (Bassariscus astutus), also known as the ringtail cat or miner's cat, a small raccoon-like creature which can rotate its ankles over 180 degrees.
• The song of the state bird, the cactus wren (Campylorhynchus brunneicapillus), has been described as similar to an automobile engine turning over. It's uncanny. Have a listen at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology library.
• The official state neckwear, the bolo (or bola) tie, reminds me of my grandfather, who became fond of them upon retiring to the Valley of the Sun.
• Petrified wood, the state fossil, is both beautiful and scientifically interesting.
  

...and I didn't even mention the Apache trout, ridge-nosed rattlesnake, and Arizona treefrog! Maybe my expatriate Arizonan cousins will have something to add.

Roadkilled porcurpines, or another reason I love my wife

On September 24, 2005, over five months before we were even engaged, Lisa let me pull over on a county road in northeast Wisconsin to look at a roadkilled porcupine (Erethizon dorsatum). She didn't even flinch when I whipped out my multitool and pulled a few quills to take home.

We were both saddened by the untimely demise of this individual, but it was really cool to see a porcupine up close. They are, after all, totally weird and cool. Nigh-impregnable lumbering cavimorphs! They climb trees and eat ax handles!

But perhaps the lesson here is not about dead rodents, but the nature of love - which. apparently, means looking the other way while your significant other stops to examine roadkill. I'm a lucky man.

State flag manifesto

As with many of my activities, this rant started with angry comments while on a road trip. I'm a fairly civic-minded individual, and as such I noticed that the state flags of my home state and some of our Old Northwest neighbors consisted only of the state seal on a solid field of some color, typically white or blue. I was miffed by this, thinking that surely the great states of Illinois, Wisconsin, and Michigan, to name a few, deserved better...but this required examples of what I consider to be excellent state flags.

The inevitable question, however, is "who cares?" Why are state symbols important? Federal powers expanded tremendously during the 20th Century. We see ourselves as citizens of the United States of America first, and state identity is less important. However, it was not always so: for the Founding Fathers, state identity came first. This persisted through the Civil War. The United States was founded on the idea expressed in the Illinois state motto: "State sovereignty, national union."

State flags and other symbols are important because they connect us to the principles of states' rights that are the foundation of our country. They provide a sense of pride in one's home and a connection to these places. Federal power is important (as indicated by the warm fuzzy feelings I get from the Interstate Highway System), but we shouldn't forget the importance of state identity.

To begin, I'd like to point out that the flags of 23 states fall into the same basic category - lame. These are the flags that are simply the state seal on a solid field. It seems that nearly half of the states in the Union didn't even want to try. State seals are swell, but it's hard to rally around a flag that is only recognizable by reading the fine print.

My home state is one of the many flags that are sort of lame. However, the Illinois state seal is more interesting than most, and more importantly, we have a fantastic state fossil. The Tully monster (Tullimonstrum gregarium), a swimming creature from the Pennsylvanian period which is found only in the Mazon Creek formation near Joliet. Also, the state fish is the bluegill (Lepomis macrochirus, or "sunnies" if you're from Minnesota), which is also pretty sweet. A mature male bluegill has a beautiful copper-colored patch below the gills and is tons of fun to catch on a 4-weight fly rod.

Because everyone needs to know my opinions on inconsequential things, I plan to post some thoughts on some state flags later.