Northern Flicker

In my last blog on the Eastern Kingbird, I stressed that I never truly recognize a bird's unique behavioral characteristics until experiencing them first hand. And that is the theme we'll explore today, again, in my comments on the Northern Flicker.

A couple days ago, Bridget (my black lab) and I went up on the pasture for an early evening stroll. Whenever I remember, I grab my camera because, let's face it, Facebook is always hungry for photos. (By the way, if you've never checked out my FB page, please do. Search under my trilogy title Of the Wing. Typically, I post bird images to Facebook before posting to my Bird Blog.) But back to the story . . . as usual, Bridget was exercising her right as a canine to irritate the pasture-loving fauna by prancing into the tall grasses and pouncing on whatever beckoned--by movement or smell. This day, it was the Northern Flicker.

I didn't immediately recognize the bird scuttling along the path, though I did instantly see the conspicuous white rump. I was more concerned that Bridget was about to grab it into her jaws.

"Bridget, N0!" I ordered, and being a wonderful and sensitive dog, she instantly desisted. (Talk about an evolved dog . . . I think Bridget understands she isn't to hurt birds, at least when I'm around). As I hurried past Bridget to see the quarry, I saw this large bird, as captured in my photo, which did not fly into the air but hurried over the ground. Since the bird did not take flight, I thought it was injured, and chased after to grab it--the very act I denied Bridget.

I held the bird gently while it tried to defend itself, pecking at my fingers to no avail. That's when I noticed the red patch on its nape and knew it to be a woodpecker. As I carried it to a tree branch, I marveled at the beauty of his wings, bordered in a golden yellow (as I recall). I reverently placed him on a low branch of a wild cherry, from which he immediately flew (wings seemingly working well) to a distant spot halfway down the hill.

Only later, when investigating information online about the Northern Flicker, did I discover that the flicker scuttles awkwardly over the ground feeding on ants. And apparently that's how Bridget and I stumbled upon him--quite innocently, of course.
Except for a good fright and unsolicited "lift," this flicker got away and "lived to tell the tale." And I hope he doesn't mind if I do, too.

Till next time . . . if you see a flicker scuttling over the ground, let him be. He's just looking for ants. And don't forget to forget to keep birds in your heart.

Georgia Anne