by Kim Doner
Whenever a roadrunner is mentioned, most of us immediately think of the Looney Tunes character Road Runner and his nemesis, Wile E. Coyote. The next response is to reply, “Beep, beep!” Then the more juvenile of us (OK, present company included) make the “Bliddle-iddle-iddle” sound that the character utters before his immediate exit from the scene.
Well, just how close did Warner Brothers come when creating this personality and
his life challenges? How does an animation compare to the “Real McCoy”?
I’m so glad you asked! Allow me to elaborate on the accuracies and inaccuracies!
Roadrunners Are in the Cuckoo Family
First, although roadrunners are fast on the ground — they have been clocked at 27 miles per hour when chasing prey — the wily coyote can outrun them at a speed of as much as 40 miles per hour. Coyotes do eat roadrunners if they can catch them, so
coyotes — along with raccoons, hawks, and owls — are a threat to these guys.
Next, roadrunners do not go “Beep, beep,” but they do have a wide variety of calls that are unmistakable once you learn them. As members of the cuckoo family (properly called Cuculidae) with the genus name of Geococcyx (thank you, Carl Linnaeus), roadrunners have a name that is a loose translation of “earth runner,” aka ground cuckoo. Mating calls can be heard as far as a quarter mile away, and it’s a sweet, dovelike “Co-coo-coo-coo-cooooooo” that prospective mates find appealing. Other calls are almost a hoot mixed with a laugh, like certain monkeys make. When roadrunners are threatened, they clatter their beaks together in a sound much like a short buzzer that hardly sounds birdlike.
Having rehabilitated cuckoos and roadrunners, I can promise that as babies, they have a unique begging sound, unlike other avian children. It comes from the back of the throat, with a whirring in the middle much like a vibration used in many Latin-based languages — sort of a “Kwhoo-dordldldle, kwhoo-oooo.”
Roadrunners Are Enthusiastic Eaters
Cuckoos, including roadrunners, are very enthusiastic eaters. When they gape, one can see an unusual pattern of spotting on the roof of the mouth that scientists suggest creates a target for parents when placing a morsel.
And those mouths…. They are always open.
Baby roadies eat a ton. Both parents
(who usually mate for life) are very active in nest-sitting and raising the young, with Dad most likely to take on the night shift to keep eggs warm. Once hatched, Junior will eat everything — crickets, grasshoppers, caterpillars, spiders, scorpions, seeds, cactus fruits, snails, other baby birds, small and infant mammals, and the biggie — snakes, specifically rattlesnakes.
To achieve full roadrunner size — about a pound in weight and two feet long — these opportunistic omnivores are quite the predators and stay that way for their life span of about eight years. They often work in teams. One roadrunner might line up in front of a rattler for distraction, moving toward it with a dramatic, overt stalking dance. The other bird then sneaks up from behind and with amazing strength behind that beak will nail the snake’s head. They both either peck until the snake is tenderized or grab the stunned reptile and sling it against rock until it’s ready as a meal. (Note to future self: Do not reincarnate as a rattlesnake. Thank you.)
Another intriguing menu item on the
roadrunner’s list is the tarantula hawk wasp. That insect stings when provoked badly enough, and it’s considered the worst sting imaginable, taking first place at the top of the pain index. One researcher described it as “pain that simply shuts down one’s ability to do anything except scream.” So I kinda like the idea of having a roadrunner around as a backup plan, right? At least in tarantula hawk wasp territory….
Roadrunners Are an Adaptable Species
Although Road Runner in the cartoon was always in the desert, where the species is well adapted, climate change has expanded its range. More and more greater and lesser roadrunners are found north and east of their original stomping grounds, which includes much of Oklahoma and the Tulsa area. They do well with drought and heat. Their nasal glands — which exit in front of the eyes — filter salt so that it doesn’t damage their urinary tracts. To stay on top of hydration, their bodies use every bit of moisture possible from their diets and reabsorb even more water before eliminating feces. Roadrunners also have a flap beneath the chin that vibrates to fan themselves and cool off, which is called “gular fluttering.” They also can lower their body temperature when nights are cool.
And much like happier humans who take midday naps, roadrunners usually restrict activity by half during the hottest hours of a day.
Not being inclined to waste anything, roadrunners have no fear of swallowing something that doesn’t exactly fit — snakes included, going in headfirst. Apparently roadies don’t have the gag reflex we humans do, although picturing this scene in real time might trigger one:
If a roadrunner scores a big enough snake, it swallows what it can and lets the rest just, well, hang out. Digestive juices being what they are, the snake’s body will simply dangle there as the bird steadily consumes it over as many days as needed, getting a few inches shorter every day.
I can’t help but picture sending the kids off to school with snakes hanging down midchest. Or rolling out the door with the tail of one tucked in a front pocket. “No,
thank you, I’ve already eaten.” Kind of the ultimate keto diet, right?
Roadrunners Have Inspired Sacred Beliefs
Road Runner in the cartoon might or might not have established any kind of beliefs in humans past guaranteed entertainment, but many North American tribes have exalted the real roadrunner for a variety of reasons. Because of the roadrunner’s zygodactyl feet (OK, I won’t make you look it up; zygodactyl applies to birds who have two toes facing front and two facing back — those in the woodpecker and cuckoo families), tracks from these feathered friends don’t reveal the direction they came from or the direction they are headed. The “X” factor grew into sacred symbols because the concealed directions threw off malignant spirits from stalking them. Hopi and Pueblo tribes believed roadrunners to be protective medicine birds. Their stylized footprints have also been found in ancient rock art on the Anasazi and Mogollon walls. So perhaps “X marks the spot” has another meaning, at least in those cultures.
Returning to Mr. Linnaeus and his work as a taxonomist, Warner Brothers had a heyday using the idea of the naturalist’s genus-species system to further the fun of their series. Although the true greater roadrunner is termed Geococcyx californianus for the location of its original discovery (and the lesser roadrunner is Geococcyx velox with reference to its speed) and coyote is Canis latrans (binomial translation = barking dog), Looney Tunes took great artistic license in renaming them with made-up Latin-based names. Fun fact: That is in keeping with Mr. Linnaeus’ style of identifying living things. Although we might laugh at “Birdibus zippibus” for the speedster or “Overconfidentii vulgaris” for the character of the coyote, possibly inventing similar ones for other characters in our own lives (“Nosious neighborum,” “Incredibratti juvenilia”), Linnaeus himself took great delight in naming the more disgusting life forms after people he disliked.
So whether the next puff of smoke you see is on a screen or is dust from this bird’s exit, tip your hat to a long-term survivor who entertains us in two and three dimensions. Fortuitous journicum, O, Earth Runner!
