moving a plague

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Grackle wrangler. I’ve done odder things.

Common grackles, Quiscalus quiscula, are just that, common, but they don’t always turn up within the count circle for the local Christmas Bird Count. I was on my way to join Patty Ford in Lakemoor Hills, our designated area to tally in Zone 12 when I encountered a large flock of grackles on the ground, splayed across two front yards and overflowing out into the road. It was eerily like a scene from Albert Hitchcock’s The Birds, but I’m no Rod Taylor.

Also, somewhat eerily, a large flock of grackles is called a plague.

I slowed, rolled down the windows and started waving my arms. Yelling “Move on,” I attempted to herd the iridescence, ebony plague west down the road. We were only about half a mile from being within the official count circle established locally in the late 1950s.

Could I inch the free-flowing bird mass in the right direction?

Briefly, it seemed to be working, but plagues are somewhat unpredictable. Like mercury crawling across a lab table, or Mrs. Butterworth’s over a stack of steaming, hot Aunt Jemimas. In an instant, the entire flock bolted, broke into two mini plagues and flew back, behind the car to reassemble on the ground in their original location.

So much for herding free-flowing bird masses.

To my great delight, thirty minutes later, I was counting a small flock of cedar waxwings about a mile to the west, when the free-flowing plague of grackles flew over me. This time they were well within the count circle.

At least 200, of the sleek as coal—glistening with blues, greens and purples—large icterids tallied for the bird count.

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