Based on true events

Samantha, the American Red Squirrel, was quite adroit in fending off intruders from her territory. The other squirrels of the neighbourhood cringed away at a flick of her sumptuous tail and fled when her rattling chatter filled the trees. Yes, courageous, sprightly Samantha was the terror of her kind, and a monument to squirreldom. But, unfortunately, she was rather lesser-known to those outside  the rodent order, and nothing enraged her more than this undeniable fact. Every time a crow, raven or magpie soared over her fortified land, she watched them with disdainful eyes, chattering that if they dared enter her domain, they had better do it at once. And what was the thrill which passed through her when one of these birds inadvertently answered her challenge! It was a Black-billed Magpie, an intelligent, talkative magpie. Samantha was eating at a hanging feeder filled with sunflower seeds when she beheld the miscreant swoop down on ebony wings, and land into the yard before her where some shreds of bread had been placed.  The magpie was evidently quite unaware of the seering glare which the squirrel was now bestowing upon it as it swaggered towards the bread. But just as feathered fellow was about to begin its scrumptious meal, there was the sound a frantic scurry of clawed paws, and the bird, looking over its iridescent shoulder, beheld to its horror a bullet of a squirrel blazing a fiery trail straight towards it. With a start, the magpie leapt out of harm’s way, but Samantha deftly changed her course and was again at its heels. Around and around in circles they went, the magpie determined not to take to the air and the squirrel just as determined to force it to do so. This reticence on the part of the intruder was more than Samantha could bear, and with every hop it made seemed to cry out mockingly: “ You can’t catch me! You can’t catch me!” Indeed, catching that impudent magpie seemed an impossible task, but Samantha persevered, moving limb and limb like lightening, with her tail streaming behind her like that of a comet. But comets can not fly forever, and at length, her paws lost their speed and she was forced to halt and rest. Ruefully did she watch as the magpie slowed its pace, lift its head victoriously, and waddle to the bread which was the cause of all Samantha’s troubles. Taking a piece in its bill, it gave a triumphant glance at Samantha, and hopped away to partake of its meal in peace. Samantha looked noiselessly on as it fed, her breaths yet intermingled with gasps, and her legs feeling as if they were formed of lead. Than, in the excess of her defeat and disappointment, she walked dismally over to a nearby spruce trunk, and disappeared up its crenellated side. There, in the branches of the tree she lay curled in her misery, but I assure you, she will not remain there long, and will be chasing off the offenders of her law before you  know it.

Based on true events

This tale, in fact, is not about a cat, but about a bird. It is a very special bird, a rare bird, a bird which is a jewel among gems. And it was seen by myself right here in Prince Albert. And it all began when I took a memorable walk on a memorable day on a memorable street. The snow lay scintillating like magical dust upon the ground, and all was blue, peaceful, and quiet. I was on a birding expedition, hoping to see a Pileated Woodpecker or some other winter bird which I had not yet beheld that year. But the day seemed empty of birds, for not even a Black-capped Chickadee flitted in the trees. And it had only been the day before that I had wished for a rare bird, and had gotten the colourful House Finch instead, which was just as good. As the cold sun dipped lower and lower in the sky, the more and more my hopes sank along with the dimming light. I was determined, though, to scour the neighbourhood with a fine-tooth comb for feathered fowl, and in this determination, I turned a corner and my eyes alighted upon a fruit tree. Perhaps the tree was a cherry tree, perhaps not, but its drupes were as red as blood, and its  branches as lithe as serpents. But it was not the tree which interested me, but the dark form perched within it. I halted, staring at this dark form, wondering what type of bird it  was, all huddled and fluffed. Was it a Northern Flicker? No. The longer I watched it, the more I realized that it was no bird that I had ever seen before. At length, the realization came full upon me like some immense blow: a Varied Thrush! In an exultant panic, I fumbled about in my purse for my Nature Journal and pencil, noiselessly imploring the bird every second to be patient. The thrush seemed amiable, and only fidgeted slightly during its wait. Finally, I drew out my journal, but to my despair, it had caught up my pencil and had flung it out of my purse like a missile. With ireful thoughts turned to my ill-luck, I looked desperately about and there in the snow, a couple paces back, lay my pencil. Could I go and fetch it without frightening away the bird of a lifetime? Could I not do so,  and endure the regret of not having evidence that I saw this magnificent rarity? Could I fetch my pencil? Yes, I could and I did and to my relief and not to say my amazement, the Varied Thrush barely ruffled a feather. Now, with my tool in hand, I set to work. The bird proved to be an admirable subject as I scribbled down its key features, and observing my image with discontent, perfected it somewhat. Then I did a smaller sketch of it when it had shifted its pose, and after I drew a close range image of its head. By this time, the sun had waned significantly in the sky, and I saw less and less detail of the bird. It was then  that I remembered that I had my monocular with me, and with feverish fingers I drew it from my purse and attempted to view the thrush through its lens. But, though I scoured the tree, there was no sign of wing or feather. Perplexed, I took the monocular from my eye and saw to my astonishment that my patient model had grown impatient and had fled from the scene. But my disappointment was minute, for I had my rare bird, and my rare bird had me!

Not based on true events

When one is bored, one’s mind rambles like a vine in a treeless land. In the case of Ringly, the Common Raccoon, it was not only his mind that would ramble but his body aswell. When he was not searching for food or escaping predators, he was rambling. In other words, he was sticking his paws in hollowed logs in search of something, his nose in holes in search of something else, and himself in trees to find yet another thing. During these escapades, he had many mishaps, but most misadventures were familiar to him, and he would escape them unscathed. Well, in one of his ramblings, he was shambling  along the forest floor, groping and searching idly, with nothing to do. At length, he came upon what looked to be something which could be transformed into a game. It was a stone, a nice flat stone which Ringly could easily pick up with his paws. First, he crouched and nosed it to make sure it was a safe toy, then he set one paw upon the warm surface, then the other, again and again, faster and faster, until he was scratching as furiously as his paws could go. Finally, he tired of this, and slipped his paw under it and flip! turned  it over like a pancake. But the deed was not done in curiosity, but in fright, for as soon as he had stuck his paw under, he had felt something wriggling over  it and gave a startled leapt. The mysterious feeling, though, remained upon his paw and even began to crawl up Ringly’s leg. In a panic, he began to dance about like a mad thing, brushing furiously at his foreleg, spinning about, gnawing, biting, scratching until the thing finally loosed its hold, and fell with a plop! on the ground. Not realizing that it had fallen, the raccoon, who had risen to his hind paws, gave one last savage yank, lost his balance, and fell, dazed, upon his back. Then, as the raccoon righted himself, he spotted the cause of his sprightly, desperate struggles crawling away beneath the grass, as harmless can be. It was a millipede, a small, segmented, flat millipede who was as glad to end the game as Ringly himself.

Now, let us examine the classes of birds and mammals for magnificent myths. Let us begin with birds. One myth that comes to mind immediately is that which classifies vultures and buzzards as the same bird. This is erroneous. In fact, buzzards are a hawk-relative of the Red-tailed Hawk, and are only distantly related to vultures. Another myth of which I am aware is the belief that putting up a bird-feeders in fall and winter will keep the birds from migrating. This is not so, for birds do not only migrate because of the lack of food. They take in all factors, including temperature, day length, light and the like. Therefore, the best way to help them on their critical migration route is to give them food. The third myth  of which  I can think is the belief that all birds called “robin” are related, at least the same species or family. This is not so. Our pretty American Robin is, in fact, a thrush, while  the European Robin is an Old World Flycatcher. Similar there is a whole  family  of robins in Australia which are classified  on their own, known as the Australasian Robins. Lastly, perhaps it is not a myth, but more a little-realized fact that Crows and Magpies, Blue Jays and Nutcrackers are just as much songbirds as colourful warblers and cute chickadees. Please treat them as such. One belief concerning mammals arises from the animal’s name. This is the Killer Whale, but, truth be told, this large predatory whale is approachable and very curious. Also, when the thought of whales and dolphins come to mind, we usually link the word “ ocean” with it. In fact, there is more than one species that lives only in freshwater. Among these is the Bolivian River Dolphin, and the Amazon River Dolphin. Now, when we think of deer, we usually think of delicate, small, elegant White-tailed Deer and Mule Deer. But a rather lesser-known truth is that the Moose is a deer as well! Yes, it is the largest deer in the world and we are very lucky to have it. Also, there is a mistaken opinion that our Pronghorn in Southern Canada are antelope. In fact, they are  hardly related. The pronghorn is classified in its own family of Antilocapridae, while true antelopes are set in the same family as cattle, the family Bovidae. Some also may think that Llamas and Alpacas can be found in the wild. In fact, they can not. They are actually forms, long domesticated , of the wild Guanaco and Vicuna. Lastly, one may believe that the Black Panther is a species of its own. Actually, it is a black form of the Leopard. And the opposite is true with the Leopard  and the Snow Leopard: they are not the same species, and are not even in the same genus. So ends our exploration of the myths surrounding the animal kingdom. I do admit that in some classes, it was a struggle to find any myths. But we attained our goal, and it has taught us a valuable lesson: seek the truth in everything.

We have already reviewed, in previous articles, myths about invertebrates, and fishes. Here, we will search the amphibian classes for any such tales and legends. One immediately comes to mind. Do toads cause  warts? No indeed! This belief most probably arose from the rough skin of most toads, but these are not warts, and they are not transmissible. Another myth is that toads and frogs are separate types of creatures. In fact, there is no real difference between the two. The word “toad” is often used to describe species from the genus Bufo, but it is also applied to any less active, corpulent Anuran species which lives out of water. Among the salamanders and newts, there may arise a misunderstanding that Red Eft and an Eastern Newt are different species. In reality, they are but one species, the Red Eft being the juvenile of fiery coloration, and the Eastern Newt being the adult of the same species. And as in  frogs and toads, newts and salamanders have no scientific distinction. It is a belief that a salamander  in Southern Canada and Central and Eastern U. S. A. called the Mudpuppy is poisonous. This is untrue. Though it may have protective slime, you would have to try to eat it to get adverse effects. The same applies to the salamanders known as the Hellbender and the Spotted Salamander. There is a lesser-known order of Amphibians known as Caecilians, which may be mistaken for worms. They are not woorms, but creatures which spend most of their time tunnelling in the soil. They have rings upon themselves to augment the illusion, but these are not segments, but only grooves in the body. Now,  to briefly return to frogs and toads. There is more than one toad or frog which bears “ horns” upon its head. But these are not truly horns, which are a growth of bone covered in keratin. No, these appendages present in frogs and toads like the Asian Spadefoot, Surinam Horned Frog, Darwin’s Frog, and Gunther’s Triangle Frog are but projections of their skin. While we examine amphibians, we should have a glance at myths having to do with reptiles. Among the turtles, we find attached to snapping turtle species the tale that they can bite a broomstick asunder. This is an exaggeration of the truth. Yes, they have a powerful bite, but not to that extent. Next, there is a reptile known as a Tuatara. This species is most likely often mistaken for a lizard, but it is fact classified on its own. There are only two species, each in New Zealand. Another misconception arises from similar powers present in two separate reptiles: the chameleons, and the Green Anole. The belief that the latter is a chameleon is a myth. The Green Anole does change its colour from green to brown depending on its surroundings, but it is not related to Chameleons.