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ANOTHER GREAT
MYSTERY OF LIFE |
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I'm fortunate to live near San Francisco Bay, where I overlook a bird
sanctuary. At certain times of the year, like the last few weeks, it's an
aviary wonderland.
Egrets, Blue Herons, Canadian Geese, Terns, Pelicans,
Cormorants---thousands of birds, some migrating, some permanent, all
darting this way and that. As I watch, one question always comes to the
forefront of my brain.
WHERE ARE ALL THE OLD BIRDS??!!
It's not fair. Every bird I watch has enormous energy, whether they're big
birds like Pelicans or small birds like Terns. They soar into the sky and
zip around without a care in the world about their health.
Don't they ever get old? Where is the Pelican that flaps away as it rises
from the water and then does a face plant into the bay, cursing its
failing body? Where is the Cormorant who can't keep up in the V-formation,
just saying "the hell with those young whippersnappers," and
dropping back to take a well-deserved nap?
Not one old bird can be seen. They all keep up, they all soar into the
sky, they all act like teenagers with way too much energy. And I find it
really irritating.
Why can't our species behave similarly? Why do our bodies have to slowly
deteriorate until our dying day? If I had wings, I'm pretty sure my flying
days would be over about now. I'd be like a turkey in a seagull body.
Of course, my jealousy of birds begs the question of whether I'd rather be
a bird and never get old, or a human being that slowly but surely falls
apart. Since a bird's lifespan generally ranges from four years
(hummingbird) to over 30 years (Bald Eagle), and because I have an
inherent fear of flying, I'm probably going to go with human being.
It would just be nice to grow old without being old. The birds I watch
almost every day seem to be having a marvelous time with their eternal
youth. None of them are on the sidelines, watching their younger
counterparts do things they used to do.
They don't even look old. Their beaks don't wrinkle, their feathers don't
turn grey, they have no replacement parts. Like I said, it's not fair.
Then again, as noted, they do die, which begs the next question: There are
millions of birds out there, thousands of them outside my window. They
don't age, so how do they die?
Apparently, and this is another reason I'd rather be a human than a bird,
is that they're not quite as bright as we are. An estimated 976 million
birds are killed each year by flying beak first into windows, thinking the
mirror image is their natural habitat. While I've done that many times,
I'm smart enough to not go very fast.
They also are susceptible to disease, like the West Nile Virus, which has
killed millions of birds. Affected birds will often be fluffed out and
stay low to the ground, or seem off balance and unable to stand. They
usually die within three days.
I can assure you that none of the birds I've ever watched had that
disease. My specimens are all acrobats.
Predators also take out their share of birds, especially cats, who are
responsible for millions of kills every year. The good news for birds is
that cats, like dogs, do indeed age. Their pouncing days come to an end
before they know it.
If not a cat's belly, or at the foot of a window, where do birds go to
die? And barring a disease, how do they know it's time? One minute they're
darting from tree to tree, the next minute they drop dead.
Lots of questions, very few answers. Researchers are flummoxed as to why
birds don't age and where they go to die. They have some convoluted ideas,
but no one knows for sure. It's one of the great mysteries of life.
So as I watch them from my window, different species intermingling, all
exuberant, all well-fed from the little fish in the bay, I marvel at their
health. As I creakily rise from my chair, I wonder if old age is a
blessing or a curse.
I'm going with a blessing. And it sure beats getting eaten by a cat. |
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