Pecking Order—Part 1

For several years we have been entertained by the various kinds of activity at our birdfeeder. Some dozen or so species come regularly for seeds—often in waves. There'll be not a soul out there for an hour or so, then when you look a moment later, it'll be swamped by 15 or 20 birds. Is this a follow-the-leader game or do they have specific times of day that are mealtimes and they all answer the call simultaneously? Why don't a sneaky one or two hit the feeder alone and have it all to themselves? Are they aware of being safer in a group, when many eyes keep a sharp lookout for predators? These are more examples of some of the mysteries of nature that I try to attempt to solve, by keeping a sharp lookout. As I said, it's one of our favorite forms of entertainment, and it's a blast when your field of research is also what entertains you.

When the feeder becomes crowded there is a definite amount of contention that arises between its visitors and it gets expressed in an explicit pecking order. As one might expect, the bigger birds generally are “top dog,” but size is not exclusively the determinant. Sure, a blue jay will scare off a titmouse and a wren will never challenge a cardinal. But one of the smallest birds is the fiercest: the diminutive goldfinch. He'll drive off a bird twice his size with a fierce display of that strong, threateningly open bill.

There is both an interspecies and an intraspecies pecking order that gets established at the feeder. We've watched the interspecies battles long enough that we can pretty well guess which kind of bird will intimidate another. Cute little chickadees stand on the bottom rung. Among the small songbirds, titmice come next, then juncos, wrens, and finally nuthatches.

But, as I said before, the smallest of the little birds—the goldfinch—rules the roost of the bantam birds. I sometimes wonder what gives them that level of bravado. If I could hold up a mirror to one of them—and if it could recognize itself and see how little it is—I'm sure I could destroy its puffed up self-confidence and cause it to cringe when a bigger bird comes round. But that's messing with Mother Nature—and that can get you into trouble.

My ability to understand intraspecies pecking order, however, is nil, since I am still unable to distinguish one titmouse from another. They certainly seem to be able to recognize one another, however. Oh how I wish I could put a dot of different color paint on the top of each of their heads! What might I learn?

The term pecking order originated long ago, when people watched how chickens in a barnyard flock set up a hierarchy. Once the order is established, it remains quite stable. Hens settle their squabbles and the order stays pretty much fixed—the one who becomes alpha fowl will tend to remain so. In the wild, however, bird hierarchy may shift through the season, as different species get ready for mating and hormone levels vary over time.

Researchers have also noted that an established pecking order reduces conflict within a flock of chickens. In other words, when a hierarchy gets set up, the birds engage in fewer battles than will an unordered flock. That surprised me, as all birds—especially chickens—seem to me to be constantly at each other. But I guess that's another projection of mine onto nature: what appears to me to be quarrelsome behavior is really a way of attaining a little peace for them. I can't expect birds to behave politely with one another, just as I can't expect politicians to care more for their constituents than they do for the big monetary contributions they receive.

Next time: Setting up the pecking order...