Son was heading out to the compost pile when he abruptly stopped, did an about-face and headed to the greenhouse. Hmmm...that was strange. When I asked, he said that another bird had met an early demise and he was getting the shovel to bury it. "What type of bird?" I asked. "I dunno....maybe a mockingbird?" he answered. I was not satisfied with a "maybe" answer so I slipped on my moccasins and headed out to the compost pile. Sure enough, a bird was flat on the ground and soft feathers fluttered in the wind. Aww, my heart started to ache. Poor little bird. As I neared the bird, I realized that this was no mockingbird. It was more brown than grey and had rusty colored feathers on its wings. It also had a bright yellow, curved beak. Kneeling down, I gingerly picked up the dead bird. It was still warm. This foul deed took place just recently. Turning the bird over, I found a couple of puncture wounds. Talons!!! This...this had to be the work of a larger bird. Perhaps the same Cooper's Hawk that had killed the Mourning Dove just a few days ago. Obviously, the hawk had dropped its prey and Son's presence left it unable to retrieve it.
The bird that met such a dire end happened to be a Yellow-billed Cuckoo or (commonly) a Rain Crow. These birds are common but are rarely seen as they tend to stay in thickets. I knew there was a pair nesting in the canebrake so I assume this was one of these. Rain Crows eat a ton of bugs and caterpillars which makes them friends of gardeners. Mom always liked hearing the Cuckoos calling from the willows. She, like many other folks, believed that the bird would be calling for rain. Although, one may not see the birds, they have a very distinctive drawn-out call. This one will be missed.
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