Hey, Shaddup Out There! At Least Can You Tone Down All That Screeching, Snorting, Squawking, Croaking, Buzzing And Howling?
OK, I get it. It’s mating season, when all the furry, feathered and slimy critters are desperate for a little action, using the only pickup technique they know: make loud noises.
There’s quite a racket now in the woods, fields and ponds, what with high-pitched chirrups from peeper frogs, shrill squawks from jays, screams from fox, howls from coyote, barks from squirrels, and on an on.
It’s a little like being in a construction zone or at a red light when a pretty woman saunters by.
Honk! Honk! Hey, baby, where ya going? Oooh, check it out!
I’m guessing wild animals have a better shot than their human counterparts.
Ordinarily I find most animal calls soothing.
The mourning dove’s sad lament is one of nature’s signature, ubiquitous tranquilizers, but one of my favorite bird songs is one I hear too rarely -- the haunting chant of the Eastern Whip-poor-will.
I last heard this lilting, quasi-onomatopoetic call a few years ago while camping with my son, Tom.
As we settled into our tent a flock swirled nearby, entertaining us with a nonstop chorus of whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will. At dawn they staged an encore, the loveliest wake-up call imaginable.
Sadly, these birds are declining because of shrinking habitat. I hope I get to hear them again soon.
Another favorite is the barred owl, once you realize it’s a bird and not a banshee. This owl’s call is commonly described as Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you-all, but it could just as easily be mistaken for a poltergeist.
The most grating, and persistent cry is the cardinal’s metallic chirp, which I hear for hours on end when I’m digging in the garden, cutting firewood or just strolling through the woods. Happily, so far this year, none has built its nest close to the house.
Loyal readers may recall my travails with one female that flew repeatedly into my windows, thinking the reflections were rivals. This went on for months despite my attempts to scare it away and cover up windows with sheets.
I also haven’t heard any tree frogs yet this spring. Think of a referee’s whistle – now amplify the shrillness about 100 times and keep it going for hours and hours and hours. That’s basically what a tree frog sounds like. Last year there were three or four within earshot calling back and forth for weeks.
In short while most animals will be through with noisy courting and settling into the more mundane aspects of raising their young. The woods will be less frenetic and somewhat quieter, except for the rat-tat-tatting of woodpeckers, which keep up their cacophony through fall.
Come to think about it, crows and ravens also don’t ever pipe down.
And squirrels seem to create more of an uproar than a herd of elephants and sound more ferocious than a caged tiger when they’re holed up in the woodshed. All right, I didn’t really mean it when I told everybody to shut up.
We live in the woods, and I’d rather listen to a thousand tree frogs, cicadas, coyotes or even rabbits that scream like colicky babies, than diesel trucks, jackhammers or other urban, aural intrusions.
By comparison, all that beastly caterwauling is music to my ears.
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