Hard-Working Bird

Australia's Mallee Fowl

What is it that looks like a turkey and works like a horse? Actually, nothing exactly matches those qualifications, but the Mallee Fowl of Australia comes close.

It is only the male of the species that works so strenuously, though his mate also labors intensively in her own way. The Mallee cock puts in up to eleven months of hard labor every year, striving to cope with a unique problem presented by his hen.

The problem is the size of her eggs. She is about the size of a domestic chicken, and weighs perhaps three and a half pounds. Her eggs, however, are more than three times the size of chicken eggs, weighing about half a pound each. Since the nest contains eight to ten eggs at a time throughout the laying season, Poppa Mallee’s problem is that there is no way Mrs. Mallee can cover all those eggs to keep them at hatching temperature.

The cock’s solution is the reason he is also called “the incubator bird” or “the mound-builder.” Since his mate cannot possibly hatch all the eggs, he arranges an artificial incubator from sand and damp vegetation. But in the desert interior of Australia, even this presents a problem—and that is why his work continues through so many months.

He begins in the winter, months before the egg-laying season, by digging a circular pit about six feet across and three feet deep. Into this pit he piles all the plant material he can scavenge within a fifty-yard radius. After the winter rains have soaked the leaves and bits of brush, he covers the pile with a layer of sand. As the damp mulch begins to decompose fermentation sets in, giving off quantities of heat.

For the next four months, the cock Mallee tends his “cooker,” uncovering the pile periodically to turn and stir the mixture and vent off excess heat and moisture. When it’s time for his mate to begin laying, his incubator is ready for occupancy. (If he had waited until spring to begin his preparations, all would have been in vain, for normally there are no rains in the spring, and thus there would have been no fermentation.)

We might imagine that after the egg-laying has commenced, he could take a well-deserved brief rest, but such is not the case. Instead, his routine becomes even more demanding because now he must keep the nest at a constant 91 degrees. During the spring, night and morning temperatures are low, while afternoons are usually warm. Consequently, he is constantly busy, either building up the sand layer atop the next to hold in heat or removing sand to prevent overheating.

To aid him in his determination as to what is needed at any given moment, he has a remarkably accurate “thermometer” built into his mouth. If we were to observe him at work, we would see him frequently pause to dig his beak into the pile for a mouthful of sand. He lets this sift slowly out the sides of his bill as he takes the nest’s temperature.

As spring gives way to summer, the heat potential of the mulch falls off. This is fortunate, for now solar heat not only replaces the nest’s internal source but also brings new problems. Now, the blazing noontime sun would cook the eggs in short order if they were not protected. Father Mallee does this by adding more sand, as long as this is feasible. But when the layer reaches a thickness of about three feet, his limit is reached. By this time he has moved almost twenty cubic yards of sand and earth, using only his claws. Some of this mass he must remove and replace twice a day—making it thinner when the precious eggs require more heat from the morning sun, and thicker when the sun beats down too strongly.

By midsummer, however, this system is no longer adequate to protect the eggs. So Poppa Mallee installs a “refrigeration system.” In the morning, when breezes are cool, he spreads out large quantities of the sand covering to cool. Then, before the sun gets too hot, he digs troughs in the remaining cover and fills them with the cool sand, adding additional top cover for insulation.

By the time fall arrives, most of the clutch of eggs will have hatched but there will still be several of the last-laid eggs not yet ready. Now Poppa Mallee has the reverse of the midsummer problem: his eggs are in danger of growing too cold. He solves this by reversing his summer strategy: Instead of introducing cool sand into the next environment in the morning, he now brings in warm sand in the afternoon—having made sure of a supply by spreading sand out to heat while the sun was high.

Throughout all these long months of intensive labor, Mrs. Mallee hardly raises a feather to help. But we must remember that she is laying eggs at approximately weekly intervals, each of which takes from her about twelve percent of her bodily resources. The thirty-five eggs she typically lays in a season equal more than four-and-one-half times her own weight!

Ironically, all of the Mallee Fowls’ work is expended upon the unhatched eggs. After they leave the shells, the chicks are entirely upon their own—and life presents a struggle at the outset. After breaking out of the shell they must burrow out of the incubator mound. Many are not equal to the task, and suffocate. Those that succeed are generally so exhausted that it is all they can do to crawl to the shelter of the nearest shrub. But, after a rest, they scurry off, and within a day or two are well able to look after themselves.

Most chicks never see their parents, and certainly they learn nothing from them about the techniques of mound-building. Yet when their times comes to mate and reproduce, they somehow know exactly what they must do.

How shall we explain this? Instinct is the answer, of course—but where does it come from? Remember that the incubator mound must be kept at a constant temperature for about seven months, through a succession of seasonal changes and daily temperature cycles. The cock Mallee Fowl cannot afford even one lapse, for it could kill the eggs.

But the important consideration is that this has always been a strict necessity in every generation—else there would have been no following generation. In other words, they had to be equipped with the specialized knowledge needed for survival from the very first. There was never time for trial-and-error development of the technique.

There is only one way these incubator birds could have come by the skills they have to have, and that is for Someone to instill the fully-developed instinct in them. That Someone is God. The Bible says He created each type of animal, each variety of life, “after its kind.” That is to say, He made each species to fit its particular niche in our world. He created a place for each, and each for its place.

That is true of you and me, also. The Apostle Paul spoke of God’s creation with these words: “God that made the world and all things therein, seeing that He is Lord of heaven and earth, dwelleth not in temples made with hands; neither is worshipped with men’s hands, as though He needed any thing, seeing He giveth to all life and breath and all things; and hath made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth, and hath determined the times before appointed and the bounds of their habitation; that they should seek the Lord, if haply they might feel after Him and find Him, though he be not far from every one of us; for in him we live and move, and have our being” (Acts 17:24-28).

God is nearby, even this very moment. Let us honor Him as our Maker and worship Him as our God.

The Old Scot (Ted Kyle) lives in Newberg, Oregon with his wife, Marga.

Sources:
The Mysterious Senses of Animals, Vitus B. Droscher, E.P. Dutton, NY, 1965, pp. 30-36.
Grzimek”s Animal Encyclopedia, Bernhard Grzimek, Van Nostrand Reinhold Co., NY & London, 1975, Vol. 7, pp. 432-435.
Encyclopedia Britannica, 15^th Ed., Micropaedia Vol. 7, p. 1011.