The Cactus Wren -- Resiliency Demonstrated

The Cactus Wren

2020 R. Craig Johnson

           My wife and I are sequestered in our small house in Arizona. It is the middle of the COVID 19 shut-in, late April 2020. There is not much that can be done, other than an occasionally (and somewhat fearful) trip to the grocery store to resupply toilet paper, fresh food and other necessities. Fortunately, our small home overlooks a desert wash, which seems to be filled with life. There are Gambels quail, long eared desert cottontail rabbits, long tailed shiny black grackles (whose call is reminiscent of a neglected iron grate opening), mourning doves, white winged doves, a red cardinal or two (who are very shy), and of course, numerous cactus wrens. 

No doubt the wash harbors many other animals, some innocuous like the rather precocious lizard that frequents the back yard, but others that have more potent characteristics, such as the yellow scorpion and of course, the western diamondback rattlesnake. The scorpions are quite interesting, and can be easily observed in the early night with a UV flashlight and they will brightly glow in a pinkish/purple way that stands out from any other background. Last week, foolishly with my camera home, I spotted a beautiful long nosed snake with bright red diamonds on his back. I have never seen one before and it was a special, although unrecorded meeting. I do not leave my camera home anymore but it is very unlikely I will never see another in my life although I do look each time I go past the same area. 

In years past, our grandchildren have insisted on early night scorpion hunts with the flashlights and squeal delightedly each time one is spotted. But not this year. With great disappointment, they are sequestered in their own homes and cannot travel to be with us. It is one of the incalculable human losses from the COVID scare, that is being repeated world-wide. 

We do have our son’s small min-tin dog, however. Left with us last November with the promise it would be for a couple of weeks, it is now nearly a half year that we have acted as custodians. We (and particularly my wife, Nancy) have grown rather fond of the little beast, although I have yielded my side of the bed to him and have gone to a different bedroom to sleep. His body heat just too much for me to tolerate. When I tried to move him this morning, at the early hour of 8 am, he growled at me from under the covers. Clearly, he has made the bed his home with no regard for my senior status. My son is stranded in Barcelona Spain with his family and cannot return to retrieve him. There are times I fancy sending him into the bush to look for snakes but duty and judgment get the better of me.

Coyotes too occasion the wash. Just last week, a very large coyote ran in front of my wife on her nightly walk as she was returning home. Fortunately, neither did the coyote see the min-tin, nor did the min-tin see the coyote. The min-tin often regards himself as a Doberman. He would make a small snack for the wild coyote though. 

The wash is also adorned with a multitude of desert plants. Palo Verde trees, brittlebush with their yellow flowers, desert globe mallow with their creamsicle orange flowers, barrel cactus with their yellow “tunas” on top, various types of prickly pears with delicate red or yellow flowers, and numerous varieties of cholas, with their very sharp and clingy needles. Many are just ending their bloom cycle, and with the numerous spring rains here this year, it has been a banner year for desert flowers. 

I have set up a small table in the back yard where I can study under the shade of the two large (but rather messy) mesquite trees. Between the trees and the wash is a large iron fence, which gives the impression of me being in the cage while the animals are the spectators. Perhaps that is the way it should be. But in fact, I am often distracted by the cacophony from the interaction of the wildlife outside the fence. Sometimes they come and visit, and sit on the fence, or in the tree, or even on the cinderblock fence that separates us from the neighbors. I keep my Nikon D810 ready, and have some decent photographs from the experience. 

It was on one of these occasions – late morning – that I spotted a cactus wren perched curiously on the cinderblock fence post just outside the iron fence. At first, I thought it was just tired as it was resting on its breast. Periodically, another cactus wren would stop by and hop past it. The fence post has become one of the favorite places for the wrens to announce their presence by their shrill call. But this wren showed little interest in the other wrens, or even in the lizard which came within a couple of feet of her. Yes, I don’t know if it is female or male, cactus wrens are not terribly differentiated in their appearance unlike many other birds whose males exhibit colorful and often humorous plumage which they proudly display just as a young high school student with a fancy car and apparel. I think it is a female, however and will so regard her. Looking through the camera lens, I thought I saw her leg folded back in a most unusual manner. I thought it odd, but she soon flew off. I thought no more about it. That is, until today.

Today, I was again in the backyard studying and taking photographs. Suddenly, there she was. She is truly injured and would hop on one leg for a moment until she stumbled, then would lie down on her breast. She was sufficiently close now, that I could indeed verify one leg was bent backward. It almost appears to be dislocated, not broken. It is almost as if the leg is bent backwards at the knee. She is obviously strained by the injury, and must often stop and rest on her breast. She is determined – either by will or necessity, or perhaps both, to continue to forage on the ground as other cactus wrens do. 

I wondered if humans may have been the cause of her injury. A couple of weeks ago, a mourning dove flew into the patio window and having broken its neck, quickly died. Last week, I found evidence of another bird hitting the window – the dust marks from wings showing a collision half way up the window. Perhaps it was the wren, rather than another dove. But whatever it was, it did not die on impact as did the previous bird.

While it is sad, it is also inspiring in an odd sort of way. If she were human, no doubt there would be a way to obtain medical attention even in the most primitive society. If it is truly a simple dislocation, even the most basic first responder knows the proper method for correction. Indeed, in the National Outdoor Leadership School Wilderness First Responder program that I took last year, this subject was described in great detail along with the various methods for restoring function in the wilds. But alas, this bird has neither aid of other birds to which to turn, or a kind neighbor that may attend to her needs. There is no bird god to whom she can appeal for comfort, nor bird sanctuary where she can go for care and rest. I am determined to try however, and tomorrow will rig a box trap in the hopes of catching her and making a diagnosis or if possible, effecting a cure. 

There is the possibility that the leg is not an injury, but rather a genetic defect. She seems rather young, although with the leg condition, her smaller size may be just due to her inability to find food and grow like the other wrens. She does seem to be fully feathered, which makes me believe it is an injury, rather than a defect. Time, if she survives, will only tell. She will of course be hard to trap and when and if trapped, she will do her best to attack me with her sharp bill. That’s ok and I won’t let her struggle and small infliction of pain to stop my diagnosis. If I can catch her. 

If I cannot catch her, she will likely not survive long. Despite determined will wrought by necessity, nature does not long suffer the weak in the animal kingdom, outside of humans. That is particularly so in the desert, where many predators on the ground and in the air are on the lookout for those injured, which will then make a quick meal for them and their young. I hope that I can catch her.

Many humans, when faced with such challenges, are not even as resilient as this little cactus wren. Despite the low odds of her success, she pushes on. Many humans simply sit down and ask to be taken care of by others – becoming victims until the cold door of death finally opens and takes them to ground. We humans are a strange lot. We hunt some birds, like the quail that are the wren’s neighbors, and yet we go to lengths to show mercy to those injured. I like hunting waterfowl, yet one day many decades ago, my family and I found an injured Canadian goose on the shores of Long Island Sound, and after capturing it, took it to a vet for assistance. The vet amputated a broken wing (at my cost) and released it into a small pond in New York. We tend to support and care for the weak, even though from a natural selection standpoint, in many cases, that is probably a foolish thing to do. One genetic defect cared for and then raised to maturity, often becomes more as reproduction continues. Others, the recipient of accidents, may either thrive or whither. Some, like my friend Mr. Russell Redenbaugh, after losing his sight and most of his fingers in a terrible accident, refuse to be defined as a victim and through determination, and declarations, achieve success. Others wind up in institutions, constantly blaming others and living in the prison of self-denial and failure to attempt to overcome their circumstances. 

But my cactus wren has no such choice. Her choice is binary – either she will live or die. There is no mechanism for her to get free food and care, no ability to whine to other caring individuals about life’s difficult challenges. She simply does what she needs to do as long as she can do it. 

I admire the simplicity. Yet, because I am human, I must yield to my inner self and attempt to act as her savior. It is what makes us what we are. She has become my teacher of resiliency, tenacity, determination, and survival. Even though not asked, in turn I will try to become her guardian angel.