Photo on May 20, 2009, 2:15 p.m. This bird holds a whiptail lizard in its beak, as part of a mating ritual. The partner bird was on the ground on the other side of the fence, both were bouncing around rapidly -- I was glad to catch even this shot through a double-glazed patio door!

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Here is an essay I did a dozen years back in honor of these Thoroughly Curious Creatures:

Plant pots crashing to the garage floor, crow flocks scattering like confetti in the wind, a donkey spinning in air -- these are signs of life with roadrunners.  Perhaps no bird is closer to the heart of the southwest, unfazed as he is by human encroachments into his beloved wide open spaces. Fearless, ungainly creatures, Greater Roadrunners go about their business with panache, grace, agility, even a trust for specific humans known to be "safe." They have been noteworthy to human bipeds sharing their space for centuries, as petroglyphs of the distinctive birds attest.

From my observations in central New Mexico, here are several vignettes about the ways they pass their time throughout the seasons.

Wary opportunist that he is, Geococcyx californianus has learned to work the system, as established by humans and domestic animals alike.

Fall

In our early years here, one roadrunner frequently enjoyed a sunbath atop the shed in the corner of the weedy paddock.  Lizards, horned toads, garter snakes and grasshoppers abounded below in the days before the growing longeared herd finished chewing off the weeds.  The view was clear and the flat roof offered shade, thanks to a vigorous young Siberian elm. One day the bird sought the roof after his morning round of hunting, packed full of grasshoppers and Iams for Less Active Dogs, the latter from our patio.  Skilled stalker, he'd been indulging in a favorite activity, shadowing neighborhood dogs.  Pace for pace he pursued them, freezing inches from a waving tail if the owner paused, gliding when he ambled, matching motions as perfectly as a distorted shadow.  Dogs unfailingly conducted business with no suspicion of what brought up the rear.  Now Roadrunner fluffed raggedy feathers, bared a dark patch on his back and dozed.

Jasper, the donkey, had recently joined the family.  Black on top, white on belly and nose, hot in desert sun, he paused for a snack at his hay tub in front of the shed .  I left yard chores to scratch his neck and ears as he munched.  What came next could only happen in roadrunner country.

Above us the bird opened white-gold eyes to pinpoint the source of crunching.  A cautious step brought him to the edge, where abruptly he let out a sharp, rattling "ZZZZTTTT" -- much like a power screwdriver.

Jasper levitated, ears whirling.  Whamming backwards, I hit the shed.  Four hooves landed, aimed precisely 180 degrees away from the hay tub as donkey streaked across the field, volleys of hee haws expressing his state of mind.  Moments later the bird raced from the roof, hot on the trail of lizards. Gasping, I was left with the echoes, alone by the shed.

Weeks passed, bringing the area a late fall cold spell.  One windy day the roadrunner took another nap in the sun, this time on the good warm ground.  He fluffed pointy feathers and veiled his bright, white eyes.

Jasper noisily shook his ears as he edged along fences, nibbling weeds.  By now these were his fences.  He knew the way around inch by inch, including the dried remains of every bindweed that wove its way through the wires in summer.  Hooves silent in the loose soil, he munched ever closer to the dozing bird until he stood just behind, his shadow angled away in the honey glow of the sun's late afternoon rays.  Up went his head.  With a mincing step forward the donkey set a hoof gently down, right on the roadrunner.

Feathers flying in all directions, the startled bird took his turn shooting across the field.

After that a truce took effect:  that particular roadrunner did his ground sunbathing elsewhere and he never hollered from the shed roof, either.


Winter

As the cool days and icy nights of the high desert winter shrivel plants, send the largest grasshoppers and crickets to arid, sandy sepulchres and deliver lizards to hibernation recesses inaccessible to roadrunners, the birds scout food over widening areas.  They crouch in tree limbs, scoot along fence lines where windblown detritus is most likely to contain torpid insects and snakes, patrol hay stacks for mice,  poke around manure piles for edible larvae and large insects lurking in warm compost. The first lemon and peach lights of a midwinter's dawn sky often reveal large flocks of crows gathered in the donkey paddock.  Like a gaggle of pokey window-shoppers in a mall, these somber suited birds meander through dead weeds, pausing to drink at the stock tank.

The long grey sword of a beak brandished by the roadrunner cleaves the flock in twain as crows drop their dignity to squawk and scatter.  Body gliding, legs pedaling, the dashing bird rides an invisible bicycle, shooting into the heart of the crow flock.  Beak aimed for a sleek, black chest, topknot ruffled high, the roadrunner drives like a missile to the target.  No matter that the moment he scatters the crows one will inevitably swoop back to tap his long downcurved tail, causing him to spring to a fence for safety.  He has to pace dogs, spook donkeys and charge crows.
 
Why?

Because it is the nature of roadrunners to indulge in activities which baffle the rest of us.

As the desert sun steams crystal ice off crisp brown weeds in the paddock, the agile roadrunner foots a mile between himself and slow-motion crows, scooting along the dirt side of a drainage ditch looking for breakfast.

What a pity his beak won’t grin.

Spring

Steep temperature swings and big winds mark the onset of fickle spring in the high desert.  As buds swell in March the first sluggish insects bring out a few lizards.  When the winds blow cold again these prey species vanish, leaving empty-bellied roadrunners.  The sunny, warm days of early spring accelerate courtship and territorial activities. During a speedy trek across the paddock one roadrunner encountered another zooming his way.  Like any fighters the two circled, till one grabbed the tail of the other in his beak and around they went, locked in a tail wrenching spin.  At length the grabber let go and the other leaped over the fence, fleeing into the security of distance.

One year an additional spring hazard materialized among our neighborhood paisanos.  Jasper was joined by the sprightly yearling jenny, Gigi.  Roadrunners accustomed to leisurely stalking of prey in the paddock while the predictable Jasper lay dozing were startled to find themselves nuzzled by the curious mauve donkey.  Huge ears pointed forwards, short brown tail swinging in the breeze, Gigi approached roadrunners quietly from behind as they stood frozen, waiting for a lizard to give itself away.   One hoof suspended in case a sudden escape was needed, Gigi leaned forward gingerly till her whiskers made the merest contact with the spot just vacated by a rocketing roadrunner.

The birds took to the front yard.  I discovered the way our feeders provided for the long legged predators after an unseasonably warm February was supplanted by cold,  blustery weeks.  Not only were fruit tree blossoms destroyed, but also emerging insects and lizards which sustained the roadrunner family.  Handfuls of feathers materialized all over the front lawn.  Several weeks of speculation about hawks and cats led to an eerie discovery.  An empty platform feeder swung from a bare wisteria tree with its pitiful frozen remnants of emerging purple blooms.  Roaring winds had assisted Dark-eyed Juncos, House Finches, White crowned, Brewer's and Song Sparrows, Red-winged Blackbirds and Evening Grosbeaks in emptying the feeder, and I fought powerful gusts to refill it.  Squinting against blowing sand, I lifted my hand, feeling watched.  An electric shock struck when I saw, inches away, the glittering white-gold eyes of a roadrunner. Hunkered down in a crotch of the little tree, he aimed his beak directly at the feeder.  Cryptic grey, white and bronzed coloring so perfectly matched the bare limbs that I had to keep blinking to distinguish his outline.

Enchanted, I poured seeds into the swinging feeder without taking my eyes from the roadrunner, then backed away.  Thought I, "This poor fellow's too frozen to move."  No sooner did I assume he had accepted my apologies for the intrusion than he sprang from the wisteria and raced off full tilt, over the fence and far away, running effortlessly against a 40 mph wind.

A little later in the season I entered the lawn area just in time to see parent roadrunners showing two fledglings how to pull the feathers off a house finch.  They left a neat pile of fluff in a pile of stones, dashing off with the plucked bird, the two youngsters keeping pace as they disappeared down the road.
 
Summer

While summer temperatures hover above the 100-degree mark for days, I work on woodcarving projects in the garage, door open to catch breezes. Hummingbirds buzz though, hanging in air like sparkling ornaments as they inspect the truck’s tail lights, then myself when I wear a red t-shirt. Roadrunners occasionally stroll about as I carve.  Curious, one bird finds it necessary to climb up and down every shelf, pile of boxes, table, dolly, stack of wood.   He even rests on the truck tires.  More than once, while my ears heard little beyond power tools, he startled me out of my wits by stealthily ascending metal utility shelves, then sending paint cans or flower pots cascading down beside me.  I returned the favor one day when I glanced from my work to spot him snoozing peacefully atop the shelves.  My own version of his rattling "ZZZZTTTT!" caused his tail to disappear around the corner in no time flat.  Soon he was back, scurrying up onto some cardboard boxes to continue his rest.

One mid-July day I glanced out to see what the donkeys were up to and spotted two roadrunners dancing through their mating ritual.  The pair ran towards each other from opposite sides of the paddock, one bearing a bobtailed lizard in his beak.  Twice in his twirling dashes towards his mate, the bird stopped to bow his head, raising crest and tail high.  The female also paused in her rush towards the rendezvous, as her mate performed the bow.  It was fast, flamenco style, elegant.  The abrupt pauses emphasized the speed of the rest of the performance.
 
As the two came together, the male leaped onto the female's back without missing a beat -- and stood there like a feathered bull rider as the female fluttered her wings and hopped about.  During a still moment the birds copulated, and while doing so, the lizard was passed from the male's beak to the female's.  The tender interlude lasted about 45 seconds before the male leaped away to race straight towards the door where I stood.  Under a gate he shot, crest held high.  His vivid red-and-blue skin patch shone behind his pale eye before he veered away, disappearing around the building.

The female hop-glided atop the fence, where she paused long enough to half-swallow the lizard, then down she drifted, into a thicket of Siberian elms, part of her meal still protruding from her beak.

Throughout this mating, Jasper stood ten feet from the couple, nose poking from his shed, silently watching.  The moment the female hopped onto the fence he began examining the vacated area.  No telling what he was looking for, but he worked with a method to please Hercule Poirot.

Sometime during that evening on the front lawn, the nearly grown roadrunner I had seen one of the parents feeding shortly before their mating ritual was attacked.  Seven brand new quills from the left wing were found, together with a handful of body feathers.  Broken off rather than pulled out, the primary feathers suggested that a hard blow had been dealt by something.  Hawk? There are quite a few accipiters about.

As shadows grew long, my daughter, Jericha, and I scoured a bird bath with bleach and went out to set it back in its place just in time to spot a half-arc rainbow above our heads.  One dark blue cloud stood behind it against the wide, pale sky.  As we watched a sudden boom of thunder seemed to split the sky in two and shake the earth beneath our feet.

An elemental ending to an earthy day in the Land of Enchantment.