The Grackle

Meet the rebellious character behind my personal makers mark

What exactly is a grackle?

A grackle is a small black, or multicolored bird resembling a small crow. Like crows, the grackle is raucous and rebellious. Similar to crows, they were very good at deploying a variety of solutions to solve different problems. This particular skill is known in bird scientist lingo as “behavioral flexibility” and understanding it is an important piece in solving the bird intelligence puzzle. Crows and grackles, apart from the casually observed similarities, also share a special avian ingenuity – sound – like everything from a squeaky door hinge, to the sound of explosions of static from a radio left on at high volume, to laughing whistles to monkey-like rattles.

It’s common to hear it be said by those who know – “Grackle has no boss”. I am proud to be represented by this underdog rebel scum.

Prose entitled “God Hates Grackles” written by an unknown author:

They drove down from some mega church in Kansas with signs reading, “God hates grackles,” and “Grackles spread disease & crap on everything.” One little girl with blond pigtails tied with blue ribbons carried a sign saying, “No more icky turds.” They marched up and down the street outside the capitol chanting verses from Leviticus about unclean birds, occasionally stopping to extol the virtues of godly American fried chicken and turkey club sandwiches. From their trees, the grackles watched with little interest. They heard the repetitive nuk-nuk-nuk of the chanters and wondered at the rusty-hinge noises they made on the street below but mostly, they preened their shiny purple feathers and craned their necks toward the open sky above.

This went on for most of the afternoon and as the heat increased, the protesters grew more desperate, more willing to go beyond the veil of free speech. One man cast a stone. There was a moment’s pause as the world waited for the grackles to craft a response. Seconds grew to minutes, and the protesters glanced at one another, nervous, waiting. Suddenly all the grackles exploded skyward in a storm of wings and wild hallelujahs. The protesters watched with squinted eyes as the birds flew ever higher, each beat of their dark wings carrying them deeper into the sky and closer to God than anyone on the street below could imagine.

Blinded by the summer sky into which the grackles had disappeared, the protesters fumbled for their signs, packed them back on the bus, cursing the ugly grackles for their filthy ways and for not being blue birds or cardinals. Resentful and wishing that they too had wings and beautiful iridescent plumage, they drove back north, never once leaving the ground.