Fake Herons

I saw a heron this morning, and it reminded me of a police officer.

A juvenile grey heron wades along a muddy stream bank.
If you plot a pair of axes for birds ‘looking really dorky, especially when flying’ and ‘actually being really cool’, the grey heron would sit at the sweet spot.

Right now, while my house is… not-so-inhabitable… I have a long drive to drop the kids off at school, and this morning it took us alongside the many flooded fields between our temporary accommodation and the various kid drop-offs.

Stopped at traffic lights, I watched a heron land in what would be best-described as a large puddle, rather than in the lake on the other side of the road. The lake, it turns out… was “guarded” by one of those fake heron things.

Metalwork fake heron alongside a manicured pond.
I didn’t get a photo of the fake heron, but I can tell you that it was one of those tacky plastic ones, not a fancy-looking metal one like this.1 Photograph copyright Christine Matthews, used under a Creative Commons license.

You’ve seen them, probably. People put them up to discourage territorial birds from visiting and eating all their fish.2 If you haven’t seen them, you might have at least spotted the fake owls, whose purpose is slightly different because they scare off other birds.

Anyway: I found myself thinking… do birds actually fall for this? Like scarecrows, it feels like they shouldn’t (and indeed, scarecrows don’t always work, and birds can quickly become accustomed to them). But clearly they work at least a little…?

A fake plastic owl 'perched' atop a wooden electricity pylon.
If you don’t want birds, get a pretend bird. The same trick works for girlfriends.

Anyway, I found myself reminded of a geocaching expedition I went on outside Cambridge a couple of years ago. At around 6am I was creeping around outside a shopping centre on a Saturday morning, looking for a tiny magnetic geocache hidden behind a sign. I’d anticipated not having to use much “stealth” so early in the day… but nonetheless I kept getting the feeling that I was being watched.

It took me a few minutes until I worked out why: the local Home Bargains had put up a life-size standee of a police officer in just the right position that I kept catching him in the corner of my eye and second-guessing how much my digging-through-the-bushes looked incredibly suspicious!

Dan stands outside a floor-to-ceiling shop window within which is a cardboard cut-out of a smiling police officer.
Rationally, I knew that this fella wasn’t real3, but that didn’t stop him from making my brain go “wait, is that copper watching me hide behind a sign in the empty car park of a budget variety store, like he thinks I’m the world’s loneliest drug dealer?”

I did a double-take the first time I spotted the officer, but soon realised he was fake. But the feeling of being watched persisted! There’s clearly something deeper in human psychology, more-instinctive, that – as social animals – gives us that feeling of being watched and influences our behaviour.

There’s a wonderful and much-cited piece of research from 2010 that describes how cooperative behaviour like proper use of an honesty box increases if you put a picture of some eyes above it: the mechanism’s not fully understood, but it’s speculated that it’s because it induces the feeling of being watched.

A mannequin wears a high-vis jacket and holds a fishing rod, standing in the rushes of a lake.
I found this picture of a fake angler (this is a mannequin with a fishing pole!), which I guess is also an anti-heron measure.4 Photograph copyright Andy Beecroft, used under a Creative Commons license.

I reckon it’s similar with birds. They’re not stupid (some of them, like corvids, are famously smart… and probably many predator birds exhibit significant intelligence too), but if there’s something in your peripheral vision that puts you at unease… then of course you’re not going to be comfortable! And if there’s another option nearby5 that’ll work, that’s an easy win for a hungry bird.

You don’t need to actually believe that a scarecrow, a plastic bird, a poster of some eyes, or a picture of a bobby is real in order for it to have a psychological impact. That’s why – I believe – a fake heron works. And that’s why, today, a heron reminded me of a police officer.

Footnotes

1 I guess actual herons can’t tell the difference?

2 Presumably the same technique doesn’t work with sociable birds, who would probably turn up to try to befriend or woo the models.

3 I don’t know, but I do wonder, whether the picture is actually of a police officer or of a model. If I were a police officer and I knew that my likeness was being used at supermarkets and the like, I’d be first to volunteer to any call-outs to anywhere nearby them, so any suspect who ran from me would keep spotting me, following them, at every corner. You get few opportunities for pranks as a copper, I reckon, but this one would be a blast.

4 I wonder if a fake angler is more- or less-effective than a fake heron. Somewhere, an animal psychology PhD student is working out the experimental conditions to answer this question, I hope.

5 Remember: a bird can have a birds-eye view of feeding spots! If one option’s gonna make them feel like they’re being watched by a predator or a competitor, and another nearby option looks almost-as-good, they’re gonna take the alternative!

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Dan Q found GCAWR04 Take an Allotment Break

This checkin to GCAWR04 Take an Allotment Break reflects a geocaching.com log entry. See more of Dan's cache logs.

The family and I are staying in Lyneham for a couple of weeks following the flooding of our house (on the other side of Witney). This morning the younger geokid, the geopup, and I came out for a walk to find this geocache as well as to explore Milton-under-Wychwood and tag some of the memorial benches for OpenBenches (1, 2, 3, 4).

Dan sits with a young boy and a French Bulldog.

We sat near the cache and the geokid immediately found it. Looks like we’re the second signatories of the New Year: somebody beat us to it on 5 Feb! TFTC.

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6-12 Months

The insurance loss adjusters came around this morning, accompanied by damage assessors and electricians and whatnot.

The process continues to feel painfully slow. We’re still one to two weeks from confirmation that the insurance company will accept liability and be ready to start paying for, y’know, the immediate concerns like where we’re going to live.

A group of adults stand talking in a disrupted kitchen, with food, furniture, and boxes stacked high.

“How long should we plan on renting another house to live in?” I asked, warily.

“Six to twelve months?” guessed the loss adjusters.

Erk! 😭

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Note #28280

While cleaning up/assessing damage following our house flood, I finally found a lost digital stylus I’ve been looking for for a couple of months.

An 'XP-Pen' digital stylus on a wooden floor alongside a water-stained wall.

Unfortunately it’s been sat under the water line so I don’t know yet if it survived. But it’s FOUND, at least!

(Look at me, finding ways to stay positive!)

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F-Day plus 3

It feels inconceivable to me that we’re only at F-Day plus three; that is, three days since a flash flood rushed through the ground floor of our house and forced us to evacuate. We’ve been able to visit since and start assessing the damage, but for now I figured that what you’d want would be the kinds of horrible pictures that make you say “wow; I’m glad that didn’t happen to me”.

These pictures are all from F-Day itself (which happened to be Friday the 13th; delightful, eh?):

A particularly horrifying moment was when the seals on the patio doors gave way and the dining room began to flood, and we had to pivot to laying sandbags to protect the kitchen from the dining room rather than to protect the house as a whole. (Eventually, every ground floor room would be affected.)

A house under lots of water.
The water came in so quickly! An hour earlier, a deliveryperson had to wade carefully through a puddle to reach our front door. But by this point, the entire ground floor was under a foot of dirty water.
A flooded hallway.
It’s heartbreaking to see a house that you love and cherish as it starts to look like a scene from Titanic.
A flooded living room.
Soon enough we had to pivot from trying to hold back the waters to trying to save what we could. By the time the water level reached the air bricks and vents, we were having to make split-second choices about what we had time to save.
Flooded bookshelves.
Not all of the books made it, but most of them did.
An electrical socket, partially underwater.
The fire brigade wisely had us switch off our electricity supply before the first row of sockets went underwater.
A woman carries a dog out of a flooded house.
The dog was incredibly brave; retreating slowly up the stairs (while barking at the rising water!). But eventually she, too, required rescue.
Close up of the woman carrying the dog.
In one of the few moment of levity, Ruth got to ‘play firefighter’ by carrying the poor pupper out of the building. By this point, the water depth was taller than the dog is.

We’ve had a few nights in Premier Inns, but it’s a new week and it’s time to hassle the insurance company to come and have a look around. And then, maybe, we can start working out where we’ll live so the repair work can start.

Ugh.

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Normal life

I want normal life back now, please.

I appreciate that it’s only 40-ish hours since my house flooded and we had to move out. But with all the stress and activity that’s necessarily followed, it feels like it’s been so much longer.

Unrelated note: why has the person in the room above me at this hotel been using a pogo stick since around 05:30?

The calm after the storm

This morning, from my Premier Inn window, the skies are clear. I could almost forget that, just 4 miles away, my house is full of water.

Today may well be a day of waders and damage assessment, conversations with insurance companies and of working out where we’ll be living for the near future.

Sun rising through hazy but clear skies.

But strangely, what’s thrown me first this morning was that I couldn’t make this post submit.

Turns out my crosspost-to-mastodon checkbox was checked. Because my Mastodon server… runs on my homelab. Which is currently unplugged and in one of the highest rooms of a house with no electricity or Internet access. (Or, probably, running water… although that matters less to a homelab.)

I think I moved it before it got wet, but yesterday is such a blur that I just don’t know. I remember we spent some time fighting back the water with sandbags and barricades. I remember the moments each room began to fail, one by one, and we started moving whatever we could carry to higher floors (max props to folks from Eynsham Fire Bridade for helping with the heavy stuff). But if you ask me what order we rescued things in, I just don’t know.

I guess we’ll find out when the waters recede, and it’s safe to go check.

Fucking hell.

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Flood

My house is under water.

A flooded house.

Well, fuck.

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