What the heck is a coot? (Nope, not a duck. Guess again)

While I was strolling around the lake one evening, I observed a young woman being mobbed by a crowd of avian groupies. They were about the size of a chicken with dark gray feathers, bright-white bills, beady red eyes and lobed toes that helped them kick rapidly through the water.

I wasn't sure if the birds were more interested in the bread in the woman’s hands or in her vocal abilities. I suspected the former, but was nonetheless impressed by the woman’s wide soprano range as she shrieked and backed away from the mob in little circles. The birds replicated her every move, eyes firmly fixed on the bread.

Her friend, surround by a much more placid set of avian groupies, called helpful advice from several yards away. “Don't be scared. They're just birds."

Just birds? Ha!

Just birds? Anyone who has been on the receiving end of a swat from an irritated Canada goose might beg to differ with that statement. (I had bruises for a week.)  But these were small water fowl. Nothing scary about them, right? Maybe not.

Mere moments before my trajectory crossed that of the two avian enthusiasts, the birds began hopping urgently up and down, trying to grab the bread in the young woman's fingers. She turned tail and ran uphill toward me at speed; bread still clutched in her hand. (If it were me, I would have abandoned the bread.)

The birds had obviously read the book of Ruth, for wither the woman went-est, so did they. A flood of small birds raced across the sidewalk directly in front of me, intent on their target. A few members of the flock even took to the air, flapping furiously, trying to keep up with her.

Bravely to the rescue 

Being blessed (or cursed) with aquatic bird experience, I began expertly shooing the birds away from the fleeing female. Sensing a bulwark in the storm, she hid behind me, temporarily obscuring the sight of bread from the pursuing birds.

Gasping for breath, she cried: "What kind of birds are they?!?"

"They're coots," I told her, making impressive flapping motions with my arms. This persuaded a good third of the timid birds to retreat toward the water. The braver birds gave me disbelieving stares and didn't budge.

"What the heck is a coot?" gasped the girl, slowly edging out into the open now that she had some breathing room.

What the heck is a coot?

“An American coot is a waterbird, but it isn’t a duck,” I said. “It’s actually a close relative of the rail. Coots lived on ponds, lakes and marshes. As you can see, they are fairly aggressive.”

As I spoke, the young woman began timidly distributing bread again and enthusiastic coots edged closer.

“Stand firm in one place and they won’t chase you,” I advised.

“I don’t like it when they jump,” she replied as coots surrounded us. A few birds in the front row hopped up and down to demonstrate her point. I waved them away from my new friend. She stood as firmly as she could under increasing coot pressure, only executing a few backward pirouettes when the birds hopped too close to her hands.

Is it over already?

Within minutes, the bread was gone and – magically – so were the coots. Only a few stragglers remained, watching us hopefully as the girl’s friend came to collect her. They waved a merry goodbye and headed home.

I stayed behind, eyeing the remaining coots. They eyed me back. “I don’t have any bread,” I told them. “But if you’re interested in music, I could sing for you.”

This statement caused a small exodus. Blast. I watched the coots swim away, shaking my head. Four years of classical voice training, a bachelor’s degree in music and even the coots didn’t want to hear me sing.

Maybe if I ran backward in circles?

Want to know more?  

Here are some American coot resources for you. And give me a shout if you have a good bird story. I’d love to hear it. Email sschlosser@azcentral.com.

•    Audubon Society: American Coot
•    Cornell University Lab of Ornithology: Life history of the American Coot