Speaking of Wildlife

— by Jamie Proctor

Welcome to the twenty-first column describing the residents of Speaking of Wildlife: Ontario animals that can’t be released back into the wilderness due to permanent injuries or over-habituation to humans. Today we’ll be looking at one of our larger carnivorous dinosaurs: Barfolomew the turkey vulture – or, as we frequently call him, ‘Barf.’

Turkey vultures are members of a proud global vulturous role that can be separated into at least two distinct evolutionary groups: Cathartidae (or ‘New World vultures’); and Aegypiinae and Gypaetinae (collectitvely termed ‘Old World vultures’), which are closely related to hawks and eagles. Nowadays you’ll only find members of either group on their respective continents, but this is a modern development – both have fossil evidence of past presence on each other’s evolutionary ‘home turf.’

All engage in one of the grimiest and least attractive ecological roles in the animal kingdom: cleanup crew. A carcass is among the easiest forms of prey to subdue there is; you just have to find it first, and few animals are more well equipped to exploit that than vultures: broad, soaring wings that let them sit on warm thermals all day with minimal effort expenditure; bald heads to let them thermoregulate against cold air and hot sun by extension and retraction into a feathered ‘ruff’; and a digestive system of stone-cold cast-iron sturdiness are all considered essential equipment among all members of both groups.

To this, several of the Cathartidae add a powerful sense of smell (extremely unorthodox for birds!), allowing them to find a meal even on less open ground by following their nostrils. All this adds up to an animal that finds a carcass before anyone else, to the point where other prospective scavengers will keep an eye out for them and following their circling descent to find food, and without local vultures, some carcasses may never be found by ANY larger scavengers at all.

With this great power comes great responsibility: though they may PREFER to eat fresher when possible, the powerful acids of vulture digestive systems can handle the most noxious of carrion, and any disease harboured in an animal consumed by them is functionally terminated rather than remaining in the environment.

Turkey vultures specifically have their own quirks: they are easily the farthest-north-ranging of all the Cathartidae. While all their relatives fall back at the more southernly portions of the United States, they may press onwards and spend their summer reproductive months a little ways into the southern bits of Canada with us, before dodging the winter by heading back south.

This isn’t to say they’re married to this stretch of frontier: the other end of their range is the very southernmost tip of South America. They also have a particularly interesting usage of their powerful stomach acids: when threatened or frightened on the ground, they will projectile vomit at the offender, with surprisingly good range. This serves the dual purpose of both deterring the attacker (who is now covered in extremely acidic gastric juices and partially-fermented carrion) and lightening the turkey vulture for a hurried takeoff.

Finally, they are among the lucky subset of the Cathartidae that have a good sense of smell: the turkey vulture’s brain possesses an olfactory lobe best described as ‘extreme’ and they make full use of it, with some of their less-gifted relatives sometimes following their lead when they locate food otherwise missed by sight alone.

Barfolomew is on the older side of a turkey vulture’s lifespan: over twenty in a species that can make it at least into their thirties in human care. He is still in quite good shape with no apparent age-related ailments. He became embroiled with humanity via only the best of intentions: he was found lying nestled on a bare floor in an abandoned building, no parents in sight, and was taken to a wildlife rescue by helpful people, who were then informed that turkey vultures are known to raise their young on nestless bare ground and his parents were probably just out for a bit.

Spilt milk uncried over, young Barf was then reared for release along with several other turkey vulture chicks, grew to adulthood, and then sent out into the wide wonderful world, whereupon he refused to participate and returned home. Repeatedly. Since he was profoundly resistant to the idea of being wild, he was accepted as unreleasable, and given a home with us, where he spends much of his time sunbathing (a common vulture technique to warm up early in the day, and to bake off any parasites they may have picked up).

Barf and I have a somewhat mixed relationship: he likes that I feed him (and enjoys hanging around humans in general – he will consistently migrate to whichever half of his outdoor/indoor enclosure has the most people around it at a given time), but on several occasions he’s jumped toward me, which it has been suggested may be caused by my constant wearing of black hoodies leading me to appear ‘vaguely turkey vulture-ish.’ Whether it’s prompted by amorousness or irritation, a sudden turkey vulture is an ungainly weight to acquire at an unexpected angle, and so these days I keep a respectful distance for the sake of our mutual dignity.