by Kim Doner | Photos by Kathy Locker
Any serious fan of Looney Tunes animation recognizes the name
“Beaky Buzzard,” a slow-witted character known for his shy nature and dialogue dependence on the phrase, “Duhhh, yup yup yup yup yup.” The more accurate identification of this cartoon creature is a turkey vulture, which for centuries has been unfairly cast as a harbinger of doom and omen of bad luck. Granted, any healthy vulture can claim many unsavory traits, but let me assure you, these guys are a big deal in the food chain, and we’re lucky to have them around.
Convergent evolution of vultures created two branches of this animal: Old World vultures (which are never called buzzards; that’s another term for hawks outside America), found in Europe, Asia, and Africa, and New World vultures (also called buzzards, in particular turkey vultures), found in North America and South America.
Our New World vultures are more closely related to storks than to raptors, although they are categorized as birds of prey. Here in Oklahoma, we have the black vulture and the turkey vulture. When you are trying to ID them from the air, the black vulture will look entirely solid with silver wingtips, but the turkey vulture will have lots of gray under the wings that accent the V-shape of its body in flight.
Turkey vultures are known for their keen sense of smell and black vultures for their keen sense of sight. Because the birds are quite social, thousands will combine those strengths to create their own potlucks, so to speak. When this kind of gathering occurs, it’s called a wake of vultures (not “early risers” — more like “Irish-style permanent farewells”). Although black vultures have been known to attack live animals, the turkey vulture can find a carcass from more than a mile away from the mildest of
sulfuric odors. Most birds have little sense of smell, but these guys are so sensitive that scientists are studying this gift for someday finding crime victims (yes, I know that’s grim, but it’s still fascinating).
Admittedly, vultures hardly conjure appreciation as a thing of beauty either. Their lumpy, featherless heads and necks look diseased more than healthfully protective, but protect they do. Not only does the bareness help in heat regulation, but when the birds feed, the lack of feathers prevents parasites from crawling anywhere.
Ah, feeding. Their forte. Their incredible contribution to nature.
Vultures like nasty, smelly, rotting meat. As long as the host was not poisoned, it is the vultures’ version of gourmet dining. When an animal dies, whether from rabies or tuberculosis or the plague, the corpse steadily breaks down from bacteria spreading through the flesh. Tissue degrades and softens as the bacteria count rises. This is helpful to the digestive tract of a vulture, which flaunts the lowest pH in gastric juices. Although it would make any human gravely ill, it makes a vulture only happily full. When communities in India decided vultures were a threat and waged war against them, they decimated the vulture populations. Result — no birds to steadily dismantle carcasses. Rabies grew rampant as other species — those not tolerant of said bacteria or viruses — ingested diseased meat.
OK, so maybe a vulture has a face that only a mother could love. Sadly, vulture chicks won’t feel that way about you. Babies imprint very easily, and their little vulture love can be quite a pain for anyone not careful enough to avoid it. (An aside here: Vultures are big birds. So if a baby vulture decides you’re not only Mom or Dad — maybe it matures into thinking you are its mate — you have a problem on your hands as well as having destroyed the successful release of the bird. And here’s a news flash: Condors are in the vulture family. Their wingspan can reach about 11 to 12 feet, maybe more. Just picture a condor proposing a romp in the branches with you….)
Unlike other raptors, whose hoots or calls can be eerily thrilling, vultures don’t have a syrinx, which is the vocal organ in birds. They communicate by grunting, hissing, and flapping with all they’ve got.
I know — too bad there isn’t a charm school out there for vultures. Keep reading.
As in all animals, there is a reason for any bird behavior. Some folks have had the chance to see blue jays, crows, and robins suddenly stop and spread their wings in sunlight. They look like they have been struck by a magic wand and are about to transform or have eaten the wrong mushroom or something. Vultures do this too. It’s called a “horaltic pose,” and it is used to warm and expose feathers down to the skin. That triggers any parasites to run, which will then allow birds to nab and destroy them.
Another term directly related to vulturedom is “mute,” the action taken when they need to cool off or are deep in rotting meat and want to avoid being infested with cooties. They discharge urine — in the form of a white, wet, pasty mass, mixed with feces — all over their legs. It’s their own version of running through the sprinkler. This also
helps with repelling predators and parasites. What a surprise! Who would think self-anointing could accomplish so much?
Another superpower that vultures possess has a lot to do with their lineage. From the family Cathartidae — a root for similar word meanings for catharsis, purging, and purification — vultures can projectile-vomit as far as 10 feet and will do so when frightened or angry (another solid reason for avoiding imprinting a vulture).
Many of these traits inspired Native American legends to explain why vultures exist and flourish in our culture today. But full disclosure here: Despite the many years I have rehabilitated wildlife and grown to appreciate a wide variety of creatures, it was still creepy to attend a high school reunion at the top of the CityPlex Towers only to find that a “committee” of vultures had chosen to roost there that night. They eyed us through the glass surrounding the top floor. Luckily, I knew enough about it to loudly dispel the myth that they were gathering to watch an animal die.
Then again….
