by Tom Shafer
October 6, 2022
Last evening, I read an interesting article in National Parks magazine about the potential for interspecies communication in the animal kingdom (“Are You Talking to Me?”, Summer 2022). A researcher — actually a doctoral candidate — at Yellowstone National Park was processing audible wolf sounds from digital recorders placed in an area frequented by the Junction Butte wolf pack when she discovered “communication” between a young wolf and a pair of great horned owls. Over a four to five minute period, the three animals appeared to take turns talking to one another, the wolf yipping and howling while the birds delivered their familiar “hoo h-hoo hoo hoo” response.
The article prefaces that while most interspecies interactions involve eavesdropping (usually concerning risk or predation), there is some evidence of actual communication — like the interplay between different species of dolphins or predator warnings from hornbills to mongooses. And apparently, animals aren’t the only “talkers.” Some trees, through a process called quorum sensing, appear to send chemical messages to other trees, even from different species, about water usage and insect threat/infestation. Who knew?
Of course, the big question about the wolf and its great horned owl friends is this one: Was their communication intentional or coincidental?
As I have mentioned many times, I’m not a big believer in coincidence.
And, to be honest, I didn’t think that this was a thing. Here in my own backyard, I have experienced interspecies dialogue a couple of times — including a rare polyphonic collaboration among coyotes and two eastern screech owls on an extraordinary evening just a couple of nights ago.
At the end of a long afternoon working in our woods, I drowsily shuffled to the hot tub around 1 a.m. for much-needed hydrotherapy. As I opened the sliding door to our deck, I inadvertently startled a young possum seeking cat food. Because he is used to seeing me at night, the possum didn’t wander far, and once I slid into the warm, bubbling water, he returned and continued his search.
A setting quarter moon left a mostly darkened sky, revealing a very brilliant Jupiter overhead and the striking Pleiades constellation rising in the east. During new moon this past Friday, I snapped a couple of photographs of Jupiter and its four visible moons, on a night when the big giant was not only in opposition, but also coincidentally the closest — and brightest — it had been since 1963. Tonight, I would just enjoy gazing at the twinkling stars while soaking the day’s labor away.
In the woods, I could hear the skittering and vocalizations of raccoons seeking and eating birdseed dropped from our feeders and knew that they would eventually make their way to the deck where the possum was devouring cat food intended for our outdoor felines Boots, Rainbow, and Luna — who themselves were lounging in various cat houses on this somewhat chilly night.
As the teenage raccoons (who were tiny little babies back in the spring) scampered across the yard toward the deck, I saw a youngish but fully grown doe walk through a lighted metal archway that acts as an entrance to our woods. She glided along the treeline, eventually settling under a birdfeeder where most of the corn had been tossed onto the ground by some of my more ungrateful feathered friends. Or, perhaps these fowl were just looking out for their deer friend — possibly an example of interspecies nutrification! I watched her nibbling the corn for a few minutes, assuming that she was one of a few deer who pop up on our trail cameras from time to time.
Suddenly, just south about a quarter of a mile, the Little Miami River coyote pack broke into a full-throated song. This is a nightly performance, but I never tire of their yips and yaws, and ultimately expected that a couple of other bands living nearby might join in.
Instead, from our woods, and very close, Eso, our eastern screech owl who until now had remained silent, answered with her eerie trill.
A single coyote answered with its own brief aria, which was countered with the tremulous whinny by another eastern screech owl not far to the north.
The Little Miami River coyotes exploded with a cacophony of howls and calls, and then just as abruptly as this short-lived opera had started, it crescendoed into deep silence. For the remainder of the evening, the world remained still, but I was thrilled with this fleeting production!
So, was this an example of interspecies communication or mere coincidence?
I think you already know my answer.
Exhausted though exhilarated, I was now ready for sleep. Just as I was exiting the water to dry off, I witnessed a long, very bright “falling star” to the southeast — perhaps an early precursor to the coming weekend’s Draconid meteor shower.
This couldn’t have been a more fitting firework finish to my night here on the Serengeti of America, Greene County, Ohio — better known as my backyard, where the animals do talk to one another!
