Grackle for you, grackle for me.

The grackle is a resourceful bird, a hustler, a busybody. Here in Mexico they are everywhere, the way crows are everywhere in points north.

The grackle is the most prehistoric bird my untrained eye has ever watched. That mechanical back-and-forth movement of the head when they walk comes straight from the dinosauric raptor of old. Its ´saurusness is acccentuated by a beak that is, in some individuals, continually open, even during flight. The grackle is a ground bird, constantly seeking its food, nest materials, etc. on the street or sidewalk or peering from a fence, ready for another sortie to the ground. Its song is a mix of short tsks and longer cries, all loud and distinct and loudest when in negotiation with others of its kind, just like all birds, but greedier.

What strikes me about the grackles of Tuxtla is the spastic intensity of their social behaviour, the sheer nervousness of them. Alone they are more composed, preoccupied with their next hustle, a groundscore or something in a fig tree that will be had for the searching. Their wings are lengthy enough to generate that beating sound one associates with pheasants in the bush or ducks taking off from water. But these grackles seem uninterested in such ´natural´ habitats. They´re for the streetcorner, the shade tree, a telephone wire. Its intense eye seems to be saying,´I´ve got business here, people to see, deals to finish, I don´t have time for pissing around in forests and meadows´.

Business indeed.