Watching Cardinal Rearings—Part 2

As dad was taking care of his hungry offspring, mom entered the scene part way through the meal and pecked up her own food—completely ignoring her mate and kids. It was as if she was now turning the job of fueling over to her hubby. In fact, if mom is going to lay eggs for the next brood, she will rely on dad to finish raising the earlier clutch. The incubation period for cardinals is up to two weeks, followed by a nestling period of another one to two weeks—so they can raise broods some 3-4 weeks apart, if all goes well (for example, if dad completes the child raising).

This is exactly what happened. About a month later I was alerted once again by the frenetic chipping/cheeping of a cardinal fledgling. (It’s an unmistakable triple-note, high-pitched call.) I looked to see mom land on the ground beneath the feeder and her noisy child drop awkwardly behind her, insistently begging. She ignored it and abruptly flew off. The baby fluttered up into the tree. I then saw dad filling his beak at the feeder and fly over to his baby—but not too close. Dad chipped away at it (dad style, double notes, deeper tone), encouraging his baby to come to him, as if urging it to practice flying, in order to get fed. I watched him feed the kid 3-4 times, always flying to a different branch and coaxing the fledgling to come to him.

Four days later I again saw dad, this time with two youngsters. Instead of responding to their pleas with food, he aggressively flew at them, chasing them off. He repeatedly did this, until he’d scattered them. Was he forcing them into a life of self-reliance? A couple of days later I saw one youngster at the feeder, pecking away on its own. I couldn’t tell for sure, but it seemed to be successful in its attempts to feed itself. (Or was it just going through the motions?)

Each year I have watched the cardinal pair raise their young (although not in such detail), after which I never again see the youngsters. Throughout the fall, winter, and following spring the only two cardinals around here are mom and pop. Their kids have dispersed—probably rather close by, but I lose touch with them and have no idea of their whereabouts. How many survive? The survival rate of songbirds is not very high. How many successfully mate and carry on the family tradition? I have no idea.

I never saw a fledgling again for another month. I was thinking that two broods was the end of this summer’s kid raising. I assumed that my good fortune of seeing both broods successfully raised and fledged had run its course for the summer, but Lady Luck had another gift in store. About a month later (now mid August) I once again heard that insistent cardinal baby chipping sound. A third brood! I looked toward the feeder, to see a youngster perched on a twig, exhorting his dad for some food. Dad dutifully flew to the feeder, filled his bill with sunflower nuts and then stuffed them into the pleading beak of his child. It was a thrill for me to witness that third brood come to a successful conclusion. I almost felt like these youngsters were my grandkids, about to take on the big world on their own. Bon voyage!

My final peek at this third brood came three days later, when I saw three cardinal kids land on the feeder platform, next to dad. They all looked expectantly at him, hoping to get stuffed again, but he ignored them and flew off. All three of them began hesitantly to peck at seeds on their own. I wonder if I’ll get a chance in another few days to watch dad shoo this last brood away—forcing them to begin foraging for themselves in a new location. After all, this is his feeder and he’s not about to put up with competition from any adult cardinal.