YIKES, SHRIKES!

There’s a tree in my yard that belongs in a horror movie. It’s a honey locust tree, and it has thorns so long and sharp you could use them to make a deadly weapon, if you were so inclined. Honey locust thorns are several inches long and are tipped with a mild poison that leaves behind a deep, long-lasting ache. The birds seem able to avoid them, though, and this tree is often host to a variety of careful, feathered visitors.      There is one bird who may think the honey locust tree was created for its own gruesome purpose. I speak of the bird called the Shrike.      Shrikes are birds as frightening as Alfred Hitchcock’s Birds — they may be no bigger than a robin, but they have murder in their hearts.      Two kind of Shrikes can be found in America, the Loggerhead and the Northern Shrike. The Northern Shrike is larger and much more rare; a broken mask will help identify it. As a general rule, most Shrikes you see will most likely be Loggerheads.      At first glance, you might mistake a Shrike for a mockingbird — they are the same size and also gray and white with a touch of black. Shrikes would be the mockingbird’s evil twin, but for a black bandit mask, a hooked bill, and a hawk-like attitude. You’ll find them in a predatory pose on fences, power-lines, or treetops, hunched over in lethal concentration. When they fly, they sweep low to the ground, grab their prey and then swoop back up again, as if riding an invisible elevator.      The nickname most often used for Shrikes is “butcher bird,” a name not given in jest. They have a deadly reputation, not only because of what they do but how they do it.      They hunt small mammals, large insects, and other birds, and like most hawks, they have good eyesight — a Shrike can spot a grasshopper from one hundred feet. But a Shrike often kills its prey with a savage bite into the skull or spine — most hawks kill with their talons.      Shrikes don’t have talons strong enough to kill — in fact, a Shrike’s feet are so weak the bird cannot hold its prey and eat it. To compensate, they spike their catch on something sharp, like barbed wire fences or honey locust thorns. Thus impaled, the hapless victims are torn apart by a hungry Shrike and eaten piece by piece. If the Shrike isn’t hungry, it will leave the dead or dying victims hanging there — as much bloody boast as prudent larder.      Walk along a barbed wire fence in spring or summer, and you will often come across unsettling evidence of Shrike activity. Lizards, sparrows, grasshoppers, even horny toads will be hung on the barbs like decorations on a nightmare Christmas tree.      Though its nature is entirely predatory, anatomy proclaims the Shrike a songbird. They aren’t very good at singing, though. The sounds they make are described as strangled screeches — the name “Shrike” may come from an old word for “shriek.”      A shriek, in my opinion, is an appropri­ate response to such a bird. The Shrike seems to prove that average size is no barrier to brutality. When you come across the songbird of prey, you might well say, “Yikes, Shrikes!”