The California Cuckoo 



So sang one of the earliest of the English poets, of Cuculus canorus; 

 but if we were to wait for the California Cuckoo to bring us summer we 

 should lose our reputation for peerless Marches and full-blown Aprils. 

 For the California Cuckoo is among the laziest of birds. When he does 

 step in, surreptitiously, and hides in the greenery of late Maytime, the 

 drama of summer has already reached the third act, and his services as 

 enunciator are no longer required. Our bird comes silently, as well, and 

 it is only after a week or two of residence, "getting settled," that he begins 

 to sound the notes which will put him in touch with his fellows or, per- 

 chance, lead to him the lady love of the season. The song then is a series 

 ofexplosivepoutingnotes: Cuckookook ookookook ook kook kook kook, 

 first energetically then rallentando et diminuendo. 



Although the bird enjoys a rather wide distribution throughout the 

 forested lowlands of the Pacific slope, the sight of a California Cuckoo is 

 one of the rarest; and save in some few favored places, recognized breeding 

 haunts, his voice is the rarest of sounds. Although I have lived for twenty- 

 five years in the West, and am accounted fairly alert of ear, I should hesi- 

 tate to tell how few times I have heard this bird — say six or eight. Those 

 more favored by reason of acquaintance with the birds' restricted breeding 

 haunts 1 tell us that upon arrival in the north the birds keep to the higher 

 woodlands for a period of two or three weeks, after which they retire to 

 the willow bottoms to breed. After this their entire aspect changes. No 

 longer shy and difficult of approach, they show themselves more or less 

 freely, as those who belong to the country; while a bird found on the nest 

 will almost suffer the caress of a hand before darting off quietly to be lost 

 in the foliage. At such times, too, the loud challenge "song" gives place 

 to a low guttural note, still "kuk, kuk, kuk," with which the bird betrays 

 anxiety, or signals to its mate. Then, too, a sort of exorcism is under- 

 taken. The bird employs its ventriloquistic gifts and fills the neighbor- 

 hood with weird unplaceable kuk kuk kuk sounds, which are intended to be 

 for the intruder an accusing voice of conscience, or a reminder of avenging 

 powers which haunt the woodland. 



But apart, if possible, from its nesting anxieties, it is worth while to 

 examine this genius at close range. Most birds prefer to face the enemy, 

 so as to keep his every movement well in eye; but Cuckoo presents his 

 back, a cold gray affair (save for russet wings), from behind which he peers 

 now and then, turning his neck and giving you one eye in a lofty, well-bred 

 way. I recall no other bird whose gaze is so calm, so direct, so fearless, 

 yet withal so decorous. But nothing escapes him. He is not so vulgarly 

 devoted to curiosity that he forgets business. Mercy, no! You may be 

 within ten feet of him, but he plucks and swallows a caterpillar with as 



1 See especially A. C Shelton in "The Condor," Vol. XIII., Jan., 1911, p. 19, and Antonin Jay. Condor, XIII., 

 March, 1911, p. 69. 



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