Humans build fences. Dogs water fire hydrants. And new evidence is suggesting the owls might use their own feces to demarcate their territories.
The new finding, reported in the August 20 issue of the journal PLoS ONE, hasn’t been reported very widely for the same reason my ever-astute editors at National Geographic News declined to publish it: it’s very preliminary. But it’s bizarre enough to warrant a post on my fledgling blog!
The research team that keyed into the well-placed owl droppings is based at the Estación Biológica de Doñana in Seville, Spain.
A prevailing belief has it that social communication between nocturnal critters is most often vocal. But co-authors Vincenzo Penteriani and María del Mar Delgado weren’t satisfied with that.
After all, species like the satin bowerbird do very visual things like chew plants and paint objects with a plant-saliva mix during courtship (the females then peck at it). See more about that wild scene at the University of Maryland’s website, http://www.life.umd.edu/biology/borgialab.
Furthermore, the researchers were noticing abundant, “extremely visible” signs like white feces and prey feathers on posts and other conspicuous areas, especially during the nesting period for eagle owls.
Among other investigations, Penteriani and Delgado visited the owl territories throughout the year, and found that the owls ramp up their defecation in the months leading up to the birth of their young (September to March), but then abruptly stop showing off their feces if the nests fail, or once the young owls fledge. And when the researchers covered up the fecal markings with spray paint, the owls replaced them in an average of two days — sometimes in less than 24 hours — in the exact same spot.
The owls’ trick may help protect the nest and save energy, as eagle owls are known to be fierce defenders of their nests. For many species, there might be a risk in advertising nest locations, but owls don’t have too many natural predators, the authors point out.
In a statement, Penteriani said that feces “may represent an ideal substance for marking, because it has a minimal energetic cost to the signaler.”
Penteriani and Delgado admit that their results are speculative, and more research is needed. But it’s neat to know there are modes of animal communication to which we are still blind — with new ones just waiting to be discovered.
The full eagle owl study is here: http://dx.plos.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0003014
Last week I was working on a story for National Geographic News about the discovery of the most recent supernova explosion in the Milky Way. The story posted on May 14, and you can find it here: Youngest Supernova in Milky Way Found. There was ample material available for reporting the story: a press release and photo, a copy of the published paper, an accessible study author and even a call-in press conference. Because of scientists’ accents, other reporters’ phone noise and variability in technological performance, teleconferences are hit and miss as sources of usable quotes. I’ve found that my best bet is to draft the story beforehand, as if the teleconference weren’t happening at all. Then I can listen to the proceedings with more interest than need—and grab any great quotes or clarifications if they emerge. So that was my strategy on the afternoon of May 14th. The teleconference started at noon, my time, and so I called about four minutes early, gave my verbal passcode, name and affiliation, and listened to background music until the scientists were ready to begin.
I liked this teleconference in particular because the scientists were so joyful at their find—and with good reason! The next most recent supernova explosion in the Milky Way, as far as astronomers can tell, happened 340 years ago, and was discovered early in the 17th Century. The lead author, N.C. State University’s Stephen Reynolds, said he was so accustomed to the previous record holder that it took time to realize he’d usurped it. And this phone-in press conference was unusually clear; his excitement was audible.
So that’s why I was mortified for him when the panelists—Reynolds, a co-author and an independent researcher—got a crank call. The question, though I was too stunned to write it down verbatim, had to do with moon crickets: “Does this have any implication for the removal of moon crickets from Earth?” And as soon as the panelists and moderator were in agreement that they’d heard him correctly and began to cut him off, the caller deftly changed his tack: “Does this have any bearing on the Squooshee Supernova of 2007?”
Click.
After an impressively quick pause, the moderator took the next caller, and the conference resumed. But the assault wasn’t over. A few moments and a handful of questions later, there was a muffled exchange after which the moderator haltingly began to make moves toward wrapping up the show—20 minutes early. Someone on the line could be heard taking the name of the Lord in vain and repeatedly pushing *1, the code to join the question queue. Then he started shouting. “Hey! Hey! I wanna talk to you guys!” And with that, the moderator, who sounded a little rattled, did her best to end the call. Sort of shocked, I held the line, silently, and inadvertently eavesdropped on the aftermath. A couple of the scientists tested the line, asking if anyone was there. Suddenly shy, I didn’t speak up. I didn’t have a question anyway. Before cutting off his own line, one of the researchers sighed and said, “I thought that went well, except for a couple of loonies.” I agreed wholeheartedly.
I have no idea how two crackpots accessed a teleconference that was supposed to be somewhat controlled. I would hate to think that control is even an answer, because scientists celebrating their hard-won results shouldn’t have to worry about who listens in. It’s not that science has to be so serious that there’s no place for humor, but those calls weren’t even funny. They were childish attacks on the earnest accomplishments of hard-working people. Those callers should be ashamed.
Welcome to the Behind the Science blog, which is meant to peer behind the scenes of some of the science stories I write for various media outlets, most often National Geographic News.
Let there be no implication that these media outlets have endorsed the content of these entries; in most cases, they haven’t. The point is to provide insight and commentary that goes a bit beyond the scope of the stories that are appropriate for the original outlet—for reasons of space, most often, and occasionally just plain focus.
On April 18, 2008, I wrote a story the National Geographic News called Pope’s Views on Science Invoke Spirited Debate. I’ll put the link on the right, in case that text doesn’t stay linked to the story. Usually, I write about single, quantifiable points of discovery: the finding of a new exoplanet or supernova remnant, for example. I love those stories, but this one really got my blood flowing. It was a perfect opportunity to delve not only into science, but also into a bigger question about the role of science in the world at large, or at least one of its major religions. Plus, I was raised Catholic, but haven’t practiced it in years—and this research would be a chance to catch up on some of the Church’s recent thinking.
The basic question was: Is Pope Benedict science-friendly? I won’t summarize my findings here. My hope is they’re clear in the story! But something happened during the reporting of that story that I didn’t expect. And despite the fact that my editor gave me extra stretching room on this one, there was simply no space to include what was for me a very satisfying intellectual epiphany. You see, I didn’t imagine that by reporting this story, I’d be led to a peaceful solution, even just in my own mind, for the horribly polarized and, too often, mean-spirited debate between ardent proponents of creationism and evolution … ism.
The catalyst for this delightful understanding was a phone interview I conducted with Father Christopher Corbally, vice director at the Catholic Church’s Vatican Observatory. He’s a priest and an astronomer; you have to know that was a fascinating talk. But the best part for me, on a personal level, was when he indulged my question about his own views on evolution.
Background: I had decided years ago that the best way to stay out of arguments with scientific colleagues and religious friends was to suggest that God got the ball rolling, and evolution took over from there. But it never sat quite right with me. Father Corbally articulated a solution that acted like a salve to my long-dissatisfied mind when he spoke of “God-inspired evolution – not just inspired, but God present with the development.”
Corbally believes the potential for evolution is made real by the possibility of randomness, and that very potential comes from God.
And the process of evolution is also God, he thinks: “God’s power. That’s the most powerful thing is to let things be, and to develop in ways that are natural to themselves. It’s the balance between guiding and letting be … the gift of a parent.”
Thanks, Christopher Corbally!
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