3/1/24 Sometimes I see wild grasses that have these tufts on top, where all of the seeds are growing, and I think the tufts kind of resemble perching birds. Most of grass seed dispersal is happening via wind, and so it makes sense that the seeds would be gathered near the top of the grass stem, where they could most easily be shaken off and blown away. But another important dispersal method is through the tract of seed-eaters, such as birds. Is there any chance that the grass tufts were partly shaped by that avian resemblance? Perching birds live in flocks, which is a safety-in-numbers lifestyle: you're more conspicuous, but you have more individuals looking out for you, and you're less likely to be singled out by a predator. So, I can imagine that perching birds might gravitate towards foraging areas that are already populated. And why couldn't they be tricked by a vaguely birdlike shape sitting on top of a grass stem?

In summary: tufts look like birds to attract birds to disperse seeds??

3/2/24 I saw a flock of crows mobbing a pair of birds, part of their ongoing aerial turf war. At first I assumed that the invaders were also crows, then I heard their guttural croak (compared to the crow's ragged caw) and I decided that they were actually ravens. It got me thinking about the way that animals perceive each other. To me, a crow and a raven are practically interchangeable - ravens are just a bit bigger. There are probably more noticeable differences from the perspective of a crow. But do crows really consider a raven to be something other than they are? What even is other? This is something I often wonder about with chickens. You can find chicken breeds of all shapes, sizes, and colors, and some backyard flocks look like poultry menageries. In these mixed-breed flocks, do the chickens somehow understand that they are all chickens?

And here I need to stop, because all of this raises a new question. Is this concept of "us versus them" entirely an anthropocentric perspective? Maybe for a chicken (or a crow, for that matter), every living thing is "other," and what matters is simply whether or not their behaviors align. It's not an inherent categorization, it's simply a question of compatibility. Or maybe it's something entirely different.

3/6/24 I went to a seminar about vocal communication in birds. The speaker talked about eavesdropping, which he described as listening in on a message that was meant for someone else. And that got me thinking - why do we assume that a bird means to be heard? This particular speaker studied alarm calls, a valuable message that danger is near. Alarm calls can even communicate information about the danger itself - chickens have separate calls for aerial and ground predators. So, whether or not it is the caller's intent to be heard, there are certainly benefits to those who listen. But what about a sound that doesn't have an immediate value to a listener, such as the soft burbling of hens as they dig around for bugs? They seem to make these sounds regardless of who's nearby (although I don't believe this has been studied), and it isn't clear what they communicate. It reminds me of how I'll talk or hum to myself when I'm alone, a common behavior in humans. We should consider the possibility that other animals aren't always talking to communicate. Maybe sometimes, they just talk.

4/20/24 I had a thought one day while I was on a walk, then promptly forgot it. I wracked my brain all afternoon - was it something to do with the nuthatches I had seen chasing each other through the trees? The dog I had passed? Nothing would spark the memory, and I was certain that it was lost. A couple of weeks later, I was rewatching Spirit (...yes, the horse movie). In one scene, the horse turns his back in disapproval (very cheeky), and I suddenly remembered it: is turning away a type of contact avoidance?

Maybe that's the reason that wild birds always seem to be facing away from my camera. I first wondered about contact avoidance during my master's research. I was measuring contact seeking, which was when a chicken's head and body were both pointed towards me, but I noticed that some birds were doing the exact opposite. Showing their back seemed to be an attempt to avoid interaction.

Also, faces are an important feature for recognition...in humans, at least. But chickens also recognize each other's faces. I have to imagine that many species do. I wonder if they also share the neurological network that makes us spot faces in even the most abstract images. The face could be considered the most highly recognizable part of the body, and thus, the most important part of the body to hide when trying to avoid detection.