Wandering Whippoorwill

I have written before about my experiences with the whippoorwill. For those unfamiliar with this bird, it is North America's version of what are dubbed nightjars or goatsuckers. Few birds have been given a more colorful or intriguing name. They are a nocturnal, insectivorous bird that can be confused with owls, as they are cryptically colored, active at night, and fly silently.

I have come to appreciate the whippoorwill because of its voracious appetite for insects—particularly pesky mosquitoes. Years ago I was irritated by its incessant call, until I learned about all the insects it eats. Now it's my buddy.

The whippoorwill's name is onomatopoeic, which is a cumbersome word that means the name originates from the sound the bird makes. Another familiar example is the cuckoo. To hear the whippoorwill's call is a unique experience.

We have a few resident whippoorwills in our little woodland enclave. I used to think we had many more of them, until I realized that a single bird will wander from place to place in the dark in its designated territory, bursting forth in its onomatopoeic song for several minutes, and then will fly to another location and sing out again. It is active all night long.

I was spending the night recently in my meditation hut—all windows open to the fresh night air—as I followed one whippoorwill around in my mind's eye, by its call. I first heard him off in the woods, then up on the ridge, then down by the creek—leaving me wondering how he could satisfy his evening's appetite for mosquitoes, when he spent so much time singing.

Then I heard him nearby, only about a hundred feet away—up on the slope. Loud! He seemed to be getting closer. A near full moon illuminated the area, and I happened to be staring at the stars through the overhead skylight, when the dark silhouette of a bird flew across my field of vision, right across the window. An owl? No, it was our resident nightjar.

He landed behind my hut and commenced once again to sing out. He was very close. His song was loud. In fact, he was close enough that I could hear him gulp for air, between his calls. I believe that, on breathing in, the bird enunciates the two syllables “whip-poor” and then with gusto blasts out “will” on its out-breath. I'm not sure about that, but its call can be repeated a few dozen times with no break for air, so it must be singing on both its in-breath and out-breath. It's only on the turnaround—from in-breath to out-breath—that you can hear his gulping sound, and then only when he's close by.

Shortly he completed his song from just outside my hut, then silently flew off. In a minute I heard him calling again from several hundred feet away in the woods. His nighttime wanderings continued for another few hours. I drifted off to sleep.

Butterfly Weed

This is butterfly weed... a name that does not capture the beauty of the blossoms. Each tiny bloom is about 1/4 inch (1/2 cm) wide. Click to enlarge.

Cat Recapitulation—Part 2

So that's one data point: an article on the likelihood of cats of responding to their names. In a second article, this time in Slate magazine, a writer explored the fact that cats seem to be less responsive than dogs to human requests. He contacted an animal researcher at a university in Hungary, who is well-known for his expertise on cats and dogs, who claims that dogs are far more tuned into humans; that they can learn hundreds of words, are capable of abstract thought, and even appear to comprehend what is going on in the mind of their human companions! It seems that cats can't really be bothered with these deeper types of connections with humans.

The intrepid Slate investigator also contacted another animal expert at an Italian university, who has experimented with cats, dogs, and even fish. The Italian professor said that, in trying to evaluate the cognitive abilities of all three critters, cats come in last. In fact, fish were much easier to study and train than cats. Furthermore, he felt that the attention span of a cat is shorter than that of a fish!

Finally, back to NPR, in an article titled, “All Right, Some Cats Do Fetch.” It is well known that dogs are naturally inclined to fetch—which has endeared them for millennia to human hunters. Dogs want to please their human companions, so even though what sometimes appears to be a dog's mindless behavior to chase a thrown ball or stick and retrieve it (again and again and again), the fetching of food was likely crucial to the survival of ancient peoples who bonded with dogs.

In a query sent out by NPR, some cat owners testified that they were able to train their cats to fetch. One cat person noted, however, that indeed, his cat did retrieve, “... but only when he wants to.” That seems to sum up a cat's service to their human companions: they may be trainable in some sense, but only when they wish to be.

As far as the retrieving game goes, it should be fairly noted that cats often bring dead animals that they have caught and dispatched, almost as if in offering a gift. This is not a process of fetching, however. Additionally, most cat owners do not relish discovering a lifeless or partially eaten mouse or bird on their doorstep. It may be a demonstration of a cat's affection, but the gift is not something one desires as part of a human meal, much less enjoy the sight of a mutilated, dead animal deposited on the porch.

And so I wrap up another examination of the contrast between cats and dogs and their relationships with humans. Even though I do my best to maintain a balanced view, it seems as if my inner bias towards our more advantageous connections to dogs is verified by ongoing research by the world's prestigious universities. Sorry, cousin, but I guess that the truth is not on your side.

Cat Recapitulation—Part 1

Once again I return to the subject of domestic cats and their connections to humans, as compared to dogs. As I've written before, there are cat people and there are dog people. Each type tends to be predisposed to the characteristics of either canines or felines, and often glare at each other across a wide divide—something akin to Democrats and Republicans, or right wing versus left wing. The political polarization dominating American politics is reflected in the often antagonistic divide among cat and dog lovers.

I wish not to occupy either extreme position here, and will once again declare that I've enjoyed the companionship of both kinds of critters, but I will confess to relating more closely—in the sense of bonding—with dogs, than cats. That's a full disclosure statement—just to be forthright in my feelings, but also to concede to a cousin of mine that, yes, I favor dogs a wee bit, but also appreciate the unique qualities of cats (though my cat feelings are a little subservient to my dog sentiments).

So, with that disclaimer introduction, let me pass on to readers three recent articles about cats—that come from very reputable journalistic sources (two of them from National Public Radio, an honorable source of news and information); all three of which take a close look at the qualities of cats, relative to dogs.

One article summarized the results of a meticulously-planned Japanese experiment that examined to what degree cats are able (or inclined) to recognize their name. It is well known that dogs quickly learn, are attentive to, and readily respond to their name. Speak a dog's name and it is fully heedful of your next utterance. Most people, however, would not expect a cat to be as responsive. That's why the Japanese researchers wished to explore the issue more deeply.

Well, right out of the starting gate, Japanese cats did not do well. Felines who were invited into the lab seemingly were oblivious to the sound of their name. Undaunted, the Japanese researchers reasoned that a more trustworthy test would be to go into the homes of the cats, where they'd be more likely to respond, while in their comfortable habitat. The human experimenters found that cats, in their own home, do sometimes react to their name, by twitching their ears or moving their heads. Unlike dogs, however, who wag their tails and tend to respond with love, cats showed little more reaction than that twitch.

The Japanese experimenters felt that they'd demonstrated cats may indeed recognize their name, but the question arises, do they really identify with it, or do they simply associate the word with food or getting petted? A noted animal expert in a university in Budapest—not associated with the experiment—noted that humans began to train dogs much longer ago than they tried to do so with cats, so maybe that time difference may account for some of the divergence?

More on cat responses next time...