After the first egg hatched on June 11, the family activity began to lessen. One by one, the juveniles stopped coming to the deck to feed and bathe. I guess they knew that their parents now needed to get down to work and raise the second brood. I was sad to see the juveniles leave but excited that a new brood was beginning.
I waited for the other three eggs to hatch, but they didn’t. This was the first time that more than one egg in a clutch had not been viable. I waited an additional four days and gently removed the unhatched eggs from the nest. This would be a brood of only one chick.
Unfortunately, only one egg was hatched from the brood. This was the first time more than one egg had not been viable.
Around this time, the female disappeared from the scene and was not seen again. I don’t know what happened; maybe she was injured or taken by a predator, or perhaps she knew the male could handle a single chick on his own and left to start another brood with another male.
Regardless, the male was now on his own. With only one chick to feed, his meal runs were rather leisurely compared to the previous broods of three, four or five chicks. In fact, I would often see dad perched with an insect in his mouth, often waiting for several minutes before entering the nest box to feed the chick; a far cry from the almost frenetic food runs he had made to support larger broods in the past.
With no one to compete with for food, the lone chick was able to grow and live comfortably as the sole focus of dad’s attention.
He spent most of his time on guard, perched atop a hummingbird feeder where he had the best view of the nest box. I felt rather sorry for him during this time spent in virtual isolation. Under his watchful eye, other birds would come to the deck to feed — cardinals, Carolina wrens, tufted titmice, blue jays, black-capped chickadees, mourning doves and hummingbirds — and dad was generally not bothered by their activity. However, he did not appreciate the occasional visit by woodpeckers.
I checked the nest box daily. The chick had plenty of room in the box and was growing nicely. With no siblings in the nest, the chick never had to compete for food. Never once did it open its mouth and beg for food when I opened the top of the box. The chick was fat, content, and slept a lot.
Dad’s pace of activity was significantly slower than with broods past. Only needing to care for a single chick resulted in less frenetic action and more focused care.
When fledging time came, it took a good bit of coaxing from dad to get the chick to come out. After all, with the nest box all to itself and food being delivered regularly, the home environment was almost too good to leave. (Some human parents might see similarities here.)
But, with a bit more prodding, the lone chick fledged. And, once again, my back yard was a quiet and lonely place. I cleaned and replaced the nest box, gratified that another bluebird had entered the world, and hoped for a third brood.
– – –
This is the 13th column in a series.
Leave a Reply