Wild turkeys reduce tick risk
Nova Scotia’s Natural Resources Department recently offered some gratuitous advice, gleaned from a sign at the wildlife park it runs on the Colchester County side of the Shubenacadie River. ‘Don’t fed the bears.’
The admonition is required at the park, where people will misjudge a caged varmint as a tamed critter, but do you really need to be told not to serve lunch to that 400-pound black bear lounging in your yard?
No, you don’t. Or at least, you shouldn’t. Natural selection took care of you back when Neanderthals were still sharing the soil with Homo Sapiens, and softhearted and headed beast-feeders became part of the repast. The foolhardy gene receded, and the self-preservation gene became dominant until recently when the former mysteriously re-emerged among some urban dwellers who have come to confuse fur with friendly.
What could be cuter than a raccoon gnawing on the hand that briefly held the carrot intended as the meal.
Urban animals used to refer to the cohort I ran with in my 20s. Today, if you go to Truro and don’t see a deer you likely missed the turnoff and you’re in New Glasgow.
And, yes, lots of folks in my hometown think the deer are just darling. They feed them and so add to the growing herd and discourage pesky motorcyclists from taking a trip to Victoria Park. The park’s no problem. It’s too rugged for the deer, but Young Street at dusk can be a doe-dodging liferisking ride.
The pro-deer lobby in Truro says things that on the surface seem worth consideration like: “They (the deer) were here before we (the people) were, so they have a right to eat your lettuce.” Except when Charlie Archibald incorporated Truro in 1875 there wasn’t a white tail in Nova Scotia. They were introduced almost a quarter century later.
Facts can’t compete with the emotional delusions of selfanointed saviours who have decided that the beasts of the land are truly the least among us and so, according to Luke, the greatest. These folks are tough to convince that a squirrel is a rat with a geneticallymodified tail and great PR man. Best not try.
It is probably mere coincidence that a group near Truro has revived the drive to introduce wild turkeys to the province. The same department that warns you not to feed the bears has rejected wild turkey – the bird not the bourbon – introduction to the province, based on some science and consultations with folks who like their birds on the wing not underfoot.
The wild turkey lobby gained a potentially powerful ally recently in the person of CBRM mayor and Tory leadership hopeful Cecil Clarke.
“Not only do these birds offer a significant economic opportunity, but they are also known for eating insects — like ticks. The tick population in Nova Scotia has sky-rocketed this spring and the risk of Lyme disease is at an all-time high,” the would-be premier wrote on his Facebook page.
Clarke said if he’s premier he’ll take up the effort to bring wild turkeys to Nova Scotia and even help organize the annual turkey shoot, although he may have phrased that last part differently.
Exactly how many wild turkeys we’ll need to rid the place of deer ticks is hard to determine, but its probably a lot, so that the risk of tripping over one when you’re walking in the woods is roughly equivalent to your current chances of contracting Lyme Disease.
Ah, but politics is about balancing the risks and rewards. And the rewards from shooting, plucking, cleaning and cooking your very own wild bird at Thanksgiving are hard to overstate, although I think I just did.
Talking turkey reminds me of a visit a few years back to the Blue Ridge Mountains, where you’ll find some of the biggest, ugliest birds you’re ever going to see. Unsure exactly what they were, I asked a local.
“That’s a turkey buzzard. Don’t you have turkey buzzards where you come from?” Assured we do not, my incredulous wildlife instructor wondered: “What eats stuff when it dies?” What, indeed.
Maybe it’s turkey buzzards Nova Scotia needs. Apparently, it’d save on the cost of cleaning up all the raccoon, porcupine, deer and, if there’s a Premier Clarke, turkey carcasses lying around.