Proud, plumed and preening
Washington Times by Maxim Kniazkov
TEMPLE CITY, California - New York City is notorious for rats the size of dachshunds, Miami for its alligators loitering on golf courses, and South Texas is besieged by feral pigs.
But here, as befits the red-carpeted land of George Clooney and Paris Hilton, residents suffer from an invasion of especially elegant feral creatures: parrots and peacocks.
Like movie stars, they are encountered in the street. Their picture can be taken after tedious stalking. And they will screech and flee if fans get too close for comfort.
“Half of the people here love them; the other half hates them,” says Barry D. Blair, the local animal-control officer. “If you have a garden, you will most likely belong to the second half, because they will ravage your fruit crops, along with your flower beds.”
The parrots make their grand appearance at about 5 p.m., when after a day of scouring the area for food, they return to rest on a couple of old elm trees in a quiet residential area.
Woe on a car imprudently parked below, or anybody who planned a quiet evening snoozing in an armchair with a book.
As soon as a flock numbering 300 to 500 red-crowned conures settles, the air fills with strident chirping that bears no resemblance to the melodious crooning of a nightingale.
There are several such flocks in the city, whose overall feral parrot population, officials say, has reached more than 1,500.
Overall, the Greater Los Angeles area counts an estimated 5,000 feral parrots, who adapted to smog and show up everywhere — from Pasadena to Santa Monica to the downtown area, says Kimball L. Garrett, the top ornithologist at the Los Angeles County Natural History Museum.
How did they get here?
Mr. Garrett says two factors conspired to ensure the species’ permanence in the area: rapid urban development, resulting in copious irrigation and the introduction of scores of nonnative fruit and nut trees; and deliberate importation, both legal and illegal, of exotic birds in the 1960s and ’70s.
Local lore is replete with stories of exotic bird smugglers letting their charges loose when faced with imminent arrest, of parrots escaping from burning pet stores, or — the most plausible of all — of parrot owners, unprepared for the birds’ incessant loud shrieks, simply taking cages to the garden and “forgetting” to shut the hatch.
“Had the Los Angeles area remained the desert it once was, none of these parrots would be able to survive here,” Mr. Garrett says. “But we’ve introduced so many nonnative trees here that they can now find enough food.”
And food they like. Species that once lived in the jungles of southern Mexico and Central America now raid California gardens with gusto, says Mr. Blair. Parrots have a special affinity for walnut and almond tree stands.
“If you have a few orange or persimmon trees in your back yard, a flock … is capable of swooping down and eating your whole crop,” he says.
Peacocks, who gravitate to neighboring Arcadia, have less mobility but still venture miles from the local arboretum, their favorite haunt.
They were brought to the city in 1903 by the city founder, eccentric real estate developer and railway magnate Elias Jackson “Lucky” Baldwin, who wanted to turn his land holdings into a prosperous orchard and ranch community.
The cattle ranches moved elsewhere, as did most of the commercial orchards. But more than a century afterward, the peacocks are still here, striking awe in many a motorist as they leisurely cross the streets wherever and whenever.
“They don’t see cars very well,” says Craig Smith, an Arcadia old-timer, who has lived in the city for 26 years. “And you also have to watch your flower bed: they love all kinds of tender shoots and bulbs you plant there.”
Like in Temple City, the population of Arcadia is divided over the benefit of having feral peacocks, whose population has grown to 300 to 400, says Linda Garcia, a spokeswoman for the city administration.
Peacocks, says Mr. Blair of Temple City, also have a nasty habit of pounding the doors of new cars with their beaks as soon as they see their own reflection in the fresh out-of-the-showroom gloss, an observation Arcadia’s city officials feverishly dispute.
Some years ago, recalls Ms. Garcia, a proposal came before the City Council to relocate the flock, but the city elders did not budge and the initiative faded into oblivion.
“Instead, we urge residents not to feed the peacocks,” she says. “And we have a list of about 30 plants on our Web site that we recommend using for flower beds. These are the plants peacocks don’t like.”
There is no evidence that the policy of making the avian royalty hustle for food has produced any more tangible effect than attempts to persuade Lindsay Lohan to ease up on partying.
The peacocks seem as fat and worry-free as ever, secure of their place next to Hollywood’s glitz and glamour.