As social animals ourselves, we spend a lot of time “reading” other people, trying to ascertain their thoughts, their emotional states, their desires. We also work hard to project information about ourselves to others, whether it be honest or deceptive. Do we appear trustworthy, appealing, likeable? Do we come across as intelligent, a leader, a bully? In pretty much all our interactions with others, we are making judgments, forming biases, pro or con. It’s what it is to be human. Now we are training our tools to be like us; is AI already human in that sense?

So it’s not surprising that we use the same mental process when we view animals, even though most people don’t go so far as to consider them furry, feathery, or finned humans. Sadly, many people treat them all as subhuman, creatures lower on the “great chain of being.”

Clearly, even within that “great chain of being,” we don’t lump all mammals as equivalent, all birds as equals. We judge. Sometimes, our judgments are based primarily on looks: the cute, the cuddly, the regal, the elegant. Sometimes it’s based on perceived or real ecological role: pest, parasite, predator, scavenger.

Today, I am featuring a bird that many people either love or hate. It provokes our reaction. In much of American history, the Cooper’s Hawk was blacklisted as the “chicken hawk.” Thousands were shot on sight as “varmints” that deserved to die. Times have changed, and Cooper’s Hawks are now among the most common raptors we are likely to see. They are protected just like other native birds. We have learned that predation is an important role in nature; decapitating the head of the food web can have unexpected, often undesirable consequences throughout the web. Given that, let’s look more closely at this bird. I don’t assume that, even with extensive knowledge, we will be completely impartial. We are too human for that.

#coopershawk #chickenhawk #raptor #foodweb #accipiter #sharpshinnedhawk #goshawk #astur #circus #waltandersonphotography

All right, what feelings arise as you view this picture? Do words like “fierce,” “intense,” or “focused” cross your mind? We see that bony ridge that protects the eyeball, and it may remind us of an eyebrow in a scowl. We see that sharp, hooked beak, and it suggests “dangerous.” There is nothing here to make us want to cuddle the bird. In fact, “back off!” might the message we receive.

Found all across the US, southern Canada, and Mexico where there is good tree cover, the Cooper’s Hawk is a member of many communities, though scarce or absent from the wide-open grasslands, harshest deserts, and highest elevations. It can show up almost anywhere across Buenos Aires National Wildlife Refuge. In recent years, it has become common in urban and rural environments too, including Tucson, often taking advantage of introduced species that make good prey (starlings and pigeons, especially).

Adults are long-tailed, broad-winged raptors with rusty barring on the undersides, slaty backs, dark caps that contrast with a pale nape (the back of the neck), and strongly taloned feet.

Immature birds have finely streaked undersides and yellow eyes; these eyes turn gold, then orange, then deep red with age. Females are about one-third larger than males.

These are ambush hunters, often sitting still for long periods in cover, then darting with speed and agility, often using visual barriers as cover in their attack. We who feed the finches, quail, and doves in our yards may inadvertently be setting the table for a predatory party-crasher.

For even as the seed-eaters concentrate on finding and consuming as many little bits of energy as they can, they cannot relax their guard. Their furious activity makes their mixed flock highly visible for a long way, drawing attention that may put them at risk.

Fortunately, a group of many birds means many eyes. Suddenly there is a sharp alarm call, and the birds scatter in every direction, many disappearing into protective thickets of oak or manzanita, while others take off in beelines for distant shelter. A winged missile strafes the thickets, misses, and settles on a branch to assess the next steps.

Having missed its target, this Cooper’s Hawk gazed intently into the shrubs for signs of an over-exposed feathered morsel. Seeing movement, it dived into the thicket, even forcing its way through on foot. This is a fierce bird, not easily deterred from its mission.

Most attacks end in failure. It’s not easy to be a predator, no matter how fierce or physically fit you may be. Your food does not sit passively for you to collect it. If seedeaters have a hard time finding food when their diet is plant seeds, then imagine the challenges of capturing food that absolutely does not want to become a meal. Every attack is energetically costly. To kick in the jets for that extra burst of speed is to burn half-a-sparrow’s worth of fuel. To dive into a thicket of plants armed with sharp branches risks injury, and an injured solitary predator operates with a handicap that can hasten starvation. It may be more satisfying to dine on warm breast of titmouse or thigh of thrush than on cold, hard seed of sunflower, but it’s a riskier strategy.

This adult is intently watching the weeds under the fenceline. There are birds in there, probably sparrows, and it is waiting for one to make a mistake. We sit in a car along the roadside with our cameras and binoculars in action, and it pays us no mind. This bird acts as if its life depends on its complete concentration, and this is likely true.

Though successful attacks can be few and far between, they obviously do occur, and to witness them is to share in the rare but vital drama of natural selection in action.  We omnivorous humans eat all over the food web, but sometimes we are at the highest trophic level, and the hunter instinct still stirs us at times.  To the hawk, it’s always up there at the top of the food pyramid, energetically that lonely pinnacle, giving it figurative as well as literal right to look down on its prey.

This bird has captured a Mourning Dove, one of its favorite prey items, as revealed by many studies. Just yesterday, a naïve young dove in my yard, too “tame” by far, ended up in the talons of an adult Cooper’s.

We who eat our meat packaged and cleaned are indirect predators, but we skip the vital moment of predation, sparing us any emotional connection to the act. Unable to be inside unless I am near a window, I have seen my share of successful attacks.  I’ve watched Cooper’s Hawks take doves, quail, a flicker, and a young robin. I’ve seen them force a bird into a window or wall, stunning it, then finishing the job. It’s impossible not to feel that these are clever birds, capable of planning a strategic attack. While doves and robins seem to be about the ideal prey size, Cooper’s Hawks have taken prey as diverse as pheasants, grouse, roadrunners, cattle egrets, Burrowing Owls, some waterfowl and gulls, squirrels, rats, and hares. I’ve seen them capture Big Brown Bats in flight at dusk.

One chilly morning, an immature Cooper ’s Hawk, not yet decked out in the fine attire of an adult, landed in my yard in a sunny spot, a place to bask in the warmth of early solar rays. Comfort was its concern, not food, and all the neighborhood critters seemed to know it. A Rock Squirrel not 20 feet away took its own solar warm-up, and a Cliff Chipmunk scooted under the hawk without eliciting a quiver of interest. A jay, omnivore himself and no innocent to predation, did take interest and mobbed the hawk, screaming bloody murder and strafing the hawk in a blur of blue. To the hawk, this was mere nuisance, a minor annoyance.  A dozen Bushtits foraged in scrub oak, lisping sweetly and without fear of the predator a few yards away. 

A basking hawk is no threat, but when hunger gnaws at its bony breast, the raptor becomes a killing machine that commands the utmost respect. I trust you’ll forgive the slip into projecting emotions onto these birds; look one in the eye when it’s hungry, and you’ll do the same.

Pardon me for flinching when a nesting Cooper’s Hawk takes issue with me accidentally getting too close to its nest!

“Fearless” is not too strong a word to describe the Cooper’s Hawk. When a bird is used to people, it tunes us out. I watched this bird drinking from less than 20 feet away. I caught this moment when its transparent nictitating membrane slid across its eye. That’s one of the eye-protective devices birds of prey use when flying through brush or making impact on a victim.

We in the US have studied details of plumage, shape, and behavior to distinguish among our three species of “accipiters”: the intermediate-sized Cooper’s Hawk, the generally smaller Sharp-shinned Hawk, and the larger Northern Goshawk.

The diminutive male Sharpie was fairly easy to ID, as its tiny head and bill, lack of a pale nape, thin tarsi, and square or slightly notched tail were good clues.

Immature males showed similar features, even though patterned fairly much alike the immature Cooper’s.

Since the female Sharpie overlaps in size with the male Cooper, sometimes a determination had to be general, and we would report “accipiter sp.” Alas, that’s no longer an option, as recent research has revealed that despite having a similar chassis, a Sharpie is not just a mini-Cooper!

Yup, scientists have done it again. They have determined that despite Sharpies and Coopers appearing to be so similar, they are not each other’s closest relatives. In fact, they aren’t even in the same genus! While the Sharp-shinned Hawk remains in the genus Accipiter, the Cooper’s Hawk and what is now called the American Goshawk are now placed in the genus Astur. Even more surprising to me, the genus Astur is more closely related to Circus, the genus of the very different-looking harriers, than it is to Accipiter.

If we have been so long fooled by general appearances, then we should be extra careful not to make too many assumptions about the inner lives of birds. However, we should not swing too far to the other extreme either. When we look at bird behavior, we can clearly see signs of stress, calmness, care (think parenting or sharing food), aggressiveness, fear, and much more. While Plato and Aristotle believed in the “great chain of being,” with God on top, followed by angels, humans, animals, plants, and finally minerals, we would do well to recognize the evolutionary continuity of being. There is no sharp line separating us from animals.

If we harbor biases against animals because, for some reason, their actions or looks remind us of our weaker selves, we should expect them to look at us through their own eyes, their own perceptions. Perhaps we should have a little empathy, putting ourselves in their hooves or talons, evaluating our own actions (or inactions) with respect to the rest of nature. If we do, I hope it would bring us closer to ideals of generosity, compassion, respect, and even love. Mother Nature would approve.

Among Friends. Fearless & Fierce (Cooper’s Hawk), by Walt Anderson

As social animals ourselves, we spend a lot of time “reading” other people, trying to ascertain their thoughts, their emotional states, their desires. We also work hard to project information about ourselves to others, whether it be honest or deceptive. Do we appear trustworthy, appealing, likeable? Do we come across as intelligent, a leader, a bully? In pretty much all our interactions with others, we are making judgments, forming biases, pro or con. It’s what it is to be human. Now we are training our tools to be like us; is AI already human in that sense?

So it’s not surprising that we use the same mental process when we view animals, even though most people don’t go so far as to consider them furry, feathery, or finned humans. Sadly, many people treat them all as subhuman, creatures lower on the “great chain of being.”

Clearly, even within that “great chain of being,” we don’t lump all mammals as equivalent, all birds as equals. We judge. Sometimes, our judgments are based primarily on looks: the cute, the cuddly, the regal, the elegant. Sometimes it’s based on perceived or real ecological role: pest, parasite, predator, scavenger.

Today, I am featuring a bird that many people either love or hate. It provokes our reaction. In much of American history, the Cooper’s Hawk was blacklisted as the “chicken hawk.” Thousands were shot on sight as “varmints” that deserved to die. Times have changed, and Cooper’s Hawks are now among the most common raptors we are likely to see. They are protected just like other native birds. We have learned that predation is an important role in nature; decapitating the head of the food web can have unexpected, often undesirable consequences throughout the web. Given that, let’s look more closely at this bird. I don’t assume that, even with extensive knowledge, we will be completely impartial. We are too human for that.

#coopershawk #chickenhawk #raptor #foodweb #accipiter #sharpshinnedhawk #goshawk #astur #circus #waltandersonphotography

All right, what feelings arise as you view this picture? Do words like “fierce,” “intense,” or “focused” cross your mind? We see that bony ridge that protects the eyeball, and it may remind us of an eyebrow in a scowl. We see that sharp, hooked beak, and it suggests “dangerous.” There is nothing here to make us want to cuddle the bird. In fact, “back off!” might the message we receive.

Found all across the US, southern Canada, and Mexico where there is good tree cover, the Cooper’s Hawk is a member of many communities, though scarce or absent from the wide-open grasslands, harshest deserts, and highest elevations. It can show up almost anywhere across Buenos Aires National Wildlife Refuge. In recent years, it has become common in urban and rural environments too, including Tucson, often taking advantage of introduced species that make good prey (starlings and pigeons, especially).

Adults are long-tailed, broad-winged raptors with rusty barring on the undersides, slaty backs, dark caps that contrast with a pale nape (the back of the neck), and strongly taloned feet.

Immature birds have finely streaked undersides and yellow eyes; these eyes turn gold, then orange, then deep red with age. Females are about one-third larger than males.

These are ambush hunters, often sitting still for long periods in cover, then darting with speed and agility, often using visual barriers as cover in their attack. We who feed the finches, quail, and doves in our yards may inadvertently be setting the table for a predatory party-crasher.

For even as the seed-eaters concentrate on finding and consuming as many little bits of energy as they can, they cannot relax their guard. Their furious activity makes their mixed flock highly visible for a long way, drawing attention that may put them at risk.

Fortunately, a group of many birds means many eyes. Suddenly there is a sharp alarm call, and the birds scatter in every direction, many disappearing into protective thickets of oak or manzanita, while others take off in beelines for distant shelter. A winged missile strafes the thickets, misses, and settles on a branch to assess the next steps.

Having missed its target, this Cooper’s Hawk gazed intently into the shrubs for signs of an over-exposed feathered morsel. Seeing movement, it dived into the thicket, even forcing its way through on foot. This is a fierce bird, not easily deterred from its mission.

Most attacks end in failure. It’s not easy to be a predator, no matter how fierce or physically fit you may be. Your food does not sit passively for you to collect it. If seedeaters have a hard time finding food when their diet is plant seeds, then imagine the challenges of capturing food that absolutely does not want to become a meal. Every attack is energetically costly. To kick in the jets for that extra burst of speed is to burn half-a-sparrow’s worth of fuel. To dive into a thicket of plants armed with sharp branches risks injury, and an injured solitary predator operates with a handicap that can hasten starvation. It may be more satisfying to dine on warm breast of titmouse or thigh of thrush than on cold, hard seed of sunflower, but it’s a riskier strategy.

This adult is intently watching the weeds under the fenceline. There are birds in there, probably sparrows, and it is waiting for one to make a mistake. We sit in a car along the roadside with our cameras and binoculars in action, and it pays us no mind. This bird acts as if its life depends on its complete concentration, and this is likely true.

Though successful attacks can be few and far between, they obviously do occur, and to witness them is to share in the rare but vital drama of natural selection in action.  We omnivorous humans eat all over the food web, but sometimes we are at the highest trophic level, and the hunter instinct still stirs us at times.  To the hawk, it’s always up there at the top of the food pyramid, energetically that lonely pinnacle, giving it figurative as well as literal right to look down on its prey.

This bird has captured a Mourning Dove, one of its favorite prey items, as revealed by many studies. Just yesterday, a naïve young dove in my yard, too “tame” by far, ended up in the talons of an adult Cooper’s.

We who eat our meat packaged and cleaned are indirect predators, but we skip the vital moment of predation, sparing us any emotional connection to the act. Unable to be inside unless I am near a window, I have seen my share of successful attacks.  I’ve watched Cooper’s Hawks take doves, quail, a flicker, and a young robin. I’ve seen them force a bird into a window or wall, stunning it, then finishing the job. It’s impossible not to feel that these are clever birds, capable of planning a strategic attack. While doves and robins seem to be about the ideal prey size, Cooper’s Hawks have taken prey as diverse as pheasants, grouse, roadrunners, cattle egrets, Burrowing Owls, some waterfowl and gulls, squirrels, rats, and hares. I’ve seen them capture Big Brown Bats in flight at dusk.

One chilly morning, an immature Cooper ’s Hawk, not yet decked out in the fine attire of an adult, landed in my yard in a sunny spot, a place to bask in the warmth of early solar rays. Comfort was its concern, not food, and all the neighborhood critters seemed to know it. A Rock Squirrel not 20 feet away took its own solar warm-up, and a Cliff Chipmunk scooted under the hawk without eliciting a quiver of interest. A jay, omnivore himself and no innocent to predation, did take interest and mobbed the hawk, screaming bloody murder and strafing the hawk in a blur of blue. To the hawk, this was mere nuisance, a minor annoyance.  A dozen Bushtits foraged in scrub oak, lisping sweetly and without fear of the predator a few yards away. 

A basking hawk is no threat, but when hunger gnaws at its bony breast, the raptor becomes a killing machine that commands the utmost respect. I trust you’ll forgive the slip into projecting emotions onto these birds; look one in the eye when it’s hungry, and you’ll do the same.

Pardon me for flinching when a nesting Cooper’s Hawk takes issue with me accidentally getting too close to its nest!

“Fearless” is not too strong a word to describe the Cooper’s Hawk. When a bird is used to people, it tunes us out. I watched this bird drinking from less than 20 feet away. I caught this moment when its transparent nictitating membrane slid across its eye. That’s one of the eye-protective devices birds of prey use when flying through brush or making impact on a victim.

We in the US have studied details of plumage, shape, and behavior to distinguish among our three species of “accipiters”: the intermediate-sized Cooper’s Hawk, the generally smaller Sharp-shinned Hawk, and the larger Northern Goshawk.

The diminutive male Sharpie was fairly easy to ID, as its tiny head and bill, lack of a pale nape, thin tarsi, and square or slightly notched tail were good clues.

Immature males showed similar features, even though patterned fairly much alike the immature Cooper’s.

Since the female Sharpie overlaps in size with the male Cooper, sometimes a determination had to be general, and we would report “accipiter sp.” Alas, that’s no longer an option, as recent research has revealed that despite having a similar chassis, a Sharpie is not just a mini-Cooper!

Yup, scientists have done it again. They have determined that despite Sharpies and Coopers appearing to be so similar, they are not each other’s closest relatives. In fact, they aren’t even in the same genus! While the Sharp-shinned Hawk remains in the genus Accipiter, the Cooper’s Hawk and what is now called the American Goshawk are now placed in the genus Astur. Even more surprising to me, the genus Astur is more closely related to Circus, the genus of the very different-looking harriers, than it is to Accipiter.

If we have been so long fooled by general appearances, then we should be extra careful not to make too many assumptions about the inner lives of birds. However, we should not swing too far to the other extreme either. When we look at bird behavior, we can clearly see signs of stress, calmness, care (think parenting or sharing food), aggressiveness, fear, and much more. While Plato and Aristotle believed in the “great chain of being,” with God on top, followed by angels, humans, animals, plants, and finally minerals, we would do well to recognize the evolutionary continuity of being. There is no sharp line separating us from animals.

If we harbor biases against animals because, for some reason, their actions or looks remind us of our weaker selves, we should expect them to look at us through their own eyes, their own perceptions. Perhaps we should have a little empathy, putting ourselves in their hooves or talons, evaluating our own actions (or inactions) with respect to the rest of nature. If we do, I hope it would bring us closer to ideals of generosity, compassion, respect, and even love. Mother Nature would approve.