This is really part of a much larger, controversial, and more philosophical conversation that should be had at some point....but most certainly won't grace the pages of this blog. Nonetheless I do think it's worth a brief mention here:
There's a fine line between empathizing with your study species and out-and-out anthropomorphic interpretation of animal behaviors. It's a line that's not easily drawn when you've spent as many years with one species as I have ---- even if that species is only a tiny drab-grey bird.
But I do think it's important to point out that, as a behavioral scientist, I firmly believe that animals have emotions comparable to our own. Why do I think so? I do so for a variety of reasons. First, we share the same functional responses internally to similar external stimuli. Danger releases adrenaline, causing us to behave appropriately to that lion we've just encountered. Run! (or fight!) Prolactin is released at the sight of babies.....or nestlings. It's why my hollering baby didn't get thrown out with the bath water. And it's why birds feed their begging nestlings. I could go on and on. Suffice it to say that we all share the same chemicals causing us to behave appropriately -- thereby surviving and, eventually, reproducing.
That's the functional angle. But what about feelings? I have always tried to convince my students that feelings are what we feel when we are flooded with those chemicals. They are what cause us to react as we do. If you get injected with adrenaline, you feel fear or anxiety. If you are injected with prolactin, you feel a warm glow.....nurturing and patient. I'm being simplistic, but I think you may get my point. There is no reason not to believe that a bushtit loves its nestlings any less than I love my own children. Love causes us to put up with parenting. And parenting passes on our genes.
Which brings me to the subject of today's blog: Do bushtits grieve?
I believe they do. And, of course, I have a story to illustrate my point.
One of the nests in 2018 on Reed campus was found in March --- early in the season. It was just on the water's edge deep in "The Canyon" and was found by Gary Granger. By the time I saw it, it was almost finished and stood out starkly against the sky and water. It was built well into some very tall grasses and reeds, but was not cryptic at all. In fact, it was a very obvious nest.
Being obvious doesn't seem to doom bushtit nests. Many that I feel are fated for destruction because "how in the world could that jay over there not see that ridiculously obvious bushtit nest??" survive just fine. Others that seem carefully hidden -- so much so that they are practically impossible for us to watch -- are torn to shreds within hours of hatching or even earlier. So being out in the open couldn't predict this nest's final fate.
The attendants were an unbanded female and a banded male (LGXL). They seemed a happy couple, bringing feathers to the nest fairly frequently and not nearly as noisily as some. I had fond hopes the nest would survive and produce a batch of healthy fledglings.
Eventually it was clear that they were incubating eggs. The unbanded female and LGXL had became furtive and silent around the nest, exchanging incubation duties with only a quick "spit" to alert the incubating bird to its replacement's arrival. A quick, almost imperceptible, exchange and then silence. (This is why watching incubating nests in positively maddening.....they switch so quickly, it's hard to read bands.)
One day, however, I arrived for a watch only to find the nest in tatters. Feathers were everywhere. It had clearly been someone's lunch and the contents were now digesting in someone's belly. In most cases, when I come across a destroyed nest, the parents are no longer in sight. They have taken off to begin a new nest or to try to kick a neighbor out of theirs. But that day was different. LGXL was there alone --- there was no sign of the unbanded female. The sky was dull and the gentle wind ruffled the scattered feathers, sending them further from the now defunct nest site.
LGXL seemed listless. He was silent and hopped slowly around the area. Several times he dropped to gather a small feather and bring it up to what remained of the nest. Once there, he hopped slowly about a bit and then discarded the feather only to try again a few minutes later. His entire aspect can only be described as "dejected." He spent some time perched on a nearby branch, puffed and silent, and then began his random and pointless feather-gathering once again.
It was hard to watch, what can only be described as, this sad, little bird. He seemed so lost and lonely. Usually when a bushtit gathers feathers, they are quite animated and noisy. I would describe it as a "joyful" time. Not so this quiet, listless gathering of lost feathers and bringing them to the lost nest.
I thought at the time that LGXL was just there soon after the predation had occurred and that this might explain his unusual behavior. I also wondered if he had lost his mate as well to the predators. That does happen, although rarely. I watched for awhile and then left him to continue in solitude. I fully expected him to be gone the next day.
But he wasn't. He was still there. He wasn't quite as focused on the nest as he was the day before, but he was still hopping about slowly and occasionally picking up a feather only to set it down almost immediately. After awhile, he seemed to give up and fly across the canyon to join a known pair who were foraging on the other side and whose nest I hadn't located yet. It was just the 3 of them, making me even more certain LGXL's mate had perished along with the nest.
Over the next week, I saw him near the destroyed nest site a couple of times, but for only brief periods. It was as if he returned once in awhile in the vain hope that the nest and his mate was still there.
As far as I knew, he never found another mate. For the rest of the season, I saw him rarely and only alone or in the company of a small flock. The following year, he was gone -- presumably he had died over the winter.
So that's the story. Make what you will of it. It's hard not to imagine LGXL wasn't grieving his loss -- and for more than a single day. Imagine his plight. One day he was incubating a clutch of eggs in his warm, safe nest, switching incubation duties with his mate, and cuddling up with her and the eggs every night. Then suddenly it was all gone. No eggs. No nest. No mate. It makes sense to me that he would be grieving --- and his grieving behavior wasn't particularly productive. It didn't help him. It was depressive. He didn't find a new mate. He didn't rebuild his nest.
For what it's worth, I think he really was a sad little bushtit.
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