Migrations -- Late April. September. Summer resident.
"Kak, k-kuh, k-kuk, k-kuk!" like an exaggerated tree-toad's rattle, is a sound
that, when first heard, makes you rush out of doors instantly to "name" the
bird. Look for him in the depths of the tall shrubbery or low trees, near
running water, if there is any in the neighborhood, and if you are more
fortunate than most people, you will presently become acquainted with the
yellow-billed cuckoo. When seen perching at a little distance, his large, slim
body, grayish brown, with olive tints above and whitish below, can scarcely be
distinguished from that of the black-billed species. It is not until you get
close enough to note the yellow bill, reddish-brown wings, and black tail
feathers with their white "thumb-nail" marks, that you know which cuckoo you
are watching. In repose the bird looks dazed or stupid, but as it darts about
among the trees after insects, noiselessly slipping to another one that
promises better results, and hopping along the limbs after performing a series
of beautiful evolutions among the branches as it hunts for its favorite "tent
caterpillars," it appears what it really is: an unusually active, graceful,
intelligent bird.
A solitary wanderer, nevertheless one cuckoo in an apple orchard is worth a
hundred robins in ridding it of caterpillars and inch-worms, for it delights
in killing many more of these than it can possibly eat.
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