12/12/2023 0 Comments Birds that sing at nightSecond, all that volume was generated by the laborious convulsions of Jack’s diaphragm and breast muscles, and the work took energy. For one thing, he was giving away his position to every cat on the block. Maybe because the background noise was quieter his voice just seemed louder, but the fact was, my ears were actually fluttering with the sharp, choppy, ragged phrases that mockingbirds like.īut why was he singing at night in the first place, when most species of birds simply sleep? It was hard to make biological sense of it. He had been singing without pause for at least an hour, and as the night wore on, his volume was rising. it suddenly occurred to me that Jack, as I called the male of the family, was becoming rather obnoxious. I had been working late one night in July, and at around 2 a.m. It was also paradise for the insects on which mockingbirds make their living. The lawn looked like a putting green the garden was lush with tomatoes, squash and zucchini, and the place was circled with a variety of thick, healthy shrubs and trees. Their property included my neighbor’s entire backyard, along with the back half of the woman’s on the other side of the block-and a choice property it was. Much of the time, they sing out of desperation.ĭuring the past summer, a pair of mockingbirds took possession of the tree next to my office window. Mockingbirds, for instance, are not singing out of joy or pleasure as is commonly believed. The results and the conclusions can be provocative and can also run counter to folklore. I was trained as a biologist, and while no longer doing “official” research, I am not above a speculation or two or even a simple, easy-to-do experiment. Research has shown that mockingbird males, like songbirds everywhere, sing to attract mates and to advertise territorial boundaries-during the day-but unlike most birds, they also sing at night for hours on end during the spring and summer. The mockingbirds had gone back to regular hours. Then, suddenly, I was bolt upright in bed like a stepped-on rake. The first sounds of dawn were tinkling dimly in the distance as a mockingbird warmed his throat for the day’s performance. I was lying there one morning last October, somewhere between one-third and one-quarter conscious in the softening darkness.
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