“Hey!” said Sarah’s text. “Scrubby’s turned up. Come on over and have breakfast.” And so began my breakfast date with Scrubby the Western Scrub-Jay, a Californian bird with a sparky attitude.
Western scrub-jays, as their name implies, live in Californian scrubland – oak woodlands and scrub, chaparral, coastal sage – and also the suburban backyard. In Scrubby’s case, he’s found the best of all possible scrub-jay habitats in Sarah and Ole’s back yard, which is home to plenty of scrub oak right next to the outdoor family dining area.
While Sarah moves in and out ofthe kitchen, adding grapefruit, toast, and eggs to the patio table, a series of raucous scrub-jay shrieks emit from the nearby bushes, getting louder each time Sarah appears. Finally, as if he can’t contain himself any longer, Scrubby bursts upon the scene, a quick fluttering of bright blue, passing low over the table, a lightning touch down by the toast, skidding slightly on the table’s metal surface, and then he’s gone.
“Is that it?” I ask, looking across the table at Ole sitting there with a cup of Joe in hand. “Oh no,” he laughs, “he’s looking for these.” And with that Ole produces a bag of shelled peanuts – Scrubby’s breakfast.
Scrub-Jay Stash
I marvel at the fact that this little wild bird has got Sarah and Ole to add peanuts to their breakfast menu. Not only that, but he has also trained Ole to place in his outstretched hand not just one, but three peanuts at a time, making Scrubby’s breakfast visits very productive. He can’t eat three peanuts in one swoop of course, but what this clever bird does is whisk them away to a hidden stash, a larder if you like. In fact, scrub-jay observers have seen birds with up to 200 separate stashes, a featwhich requires a prodigious memory to manage them all, something that scrub-jays, as members of the crow family, possess.
Sarah and Ole know that Scrubby has stashes all over their yard. The patio rain gutters are a favorite, and he pops up there to deposit a peanut while we watch. They hope he has better hiding places than the rain gutters because today other scrub-jays are around and watching his every move, and these birds will not hesitate to steal from each others‘ stashes.
But Scrubby’s doing a great job of holding onto his lucrative territory. There’s a noisy, squawking scuffle going on in the nearby bush as he ejects his rivals who are vying for a closer perch. Victorious, he swoops down onto the table and I get to see him for longer this time. His wing feathers are the bluest blue as are his elegant long tail feathers. They form a striking contrast with his light grey chest and deep grey head with a sparkling pair of black eyes. He’s trying to perch on the edge of a plate and manipulate the three peanuts into his longish beak, buthis feet keep slipping on the smooth china. He’s also a bit nervous about me, the stranger at the table, so he gives up and flies off with only two peanuts this time.
“He’ll be back,” says Ole, as he enticingly places three more peanuts on the table for their lovely, lively, feathered breakfast guest.
