NARRATOR (V/O)
It feels right at home among deadly three-inch thorns. It displays its kills like bloody trophies. Its Latin name, “lanius,” means “butcher,” and it’s a title that couldn’t be more fitting.
NARRATOR (V/O)
It is the shrike, a pretty little songbird with one killer dark side.
NARRATOR (V/O)
Unlike bigger birds of prey, the eight to ten inch [20.32-25.4 cm] long shrike doesn’t have large talons to tear apart victims. That’s where nature gets creative.
NARRATOR (V/O)
Like some airborne “Vlad the Impaler,” the shrike spears its victims on large pikes, both natural, and manmade.
NARRATOR (V/O)
Lizards? Shrike’d. Snakes? Shrike’d. Even other birds. Shrike’d.
NARRATOR (V/O)
Anything the bird can get on its spike is fair game. And once its quarry is skewered into place, the shrike can tear away chunks of flesh at leisure. After all, these bodies aren’t going anywhere. This ingenious, if not gruesome adaptation comes in particularly handy when the shrike is hunting one of its favourite foods, the lubber grasshopper.
NARRATOR (V/O)
This big, meaty insect would make a good meal. But the lubber grasshopper also happens to be highly toxic. A deadly problem. But the shrike has an even deadlier solution. After employing its signature move, it leaves the grasshopper to stew on the thorn for days, until decay breaks down the poison, and the feast can commence.
NARRATOR (V/O)
The piercing method is such an effective tool, some shrikes will even build up a surplus of kills, turning thorny plants into their own private pantries.
NARRATOR (V/O)
With so much killing power packed into one bird, we should all be happy it’s so small. Otherwise, our world might be a much more dangerous place.