Run, Ground Cuckoo, Run!
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Walk the trails around Albuquerque long enough and, while you may never hear a meep-meep or get bowled over in a blur of legs, you’re bound to spot a roadrunner or two kicking up dust. These little guys are all over the scrublands around here, earning their title as the state bird of New Mexico.
Roadrunners are in the cuckoo family, a diverse grouping of over a hundred species living across several continents. Since the family includes tree-dwellers as well as terrestrial birds, the species that dominates in the American Southwest is called variously the New World ground cuckoo, the chaparral cock, or simply the greater roadrunner.
As you might expect if you were a fan of Saturday morning cartoons back in the day, they’re fleet of foot. Accelerati incredibilus can sprint at 20 mph when in pursuit of prey or fleeing predators like the Carnivorous Vulgaris. (Before you go quoting that, note that unlike the writers at Looney Tunes, scientists prefer the binomials Canis latrans and Geococcyx californianus for coyotes and roadrunners respectively.)
Corny kid-humor aside, Looney Tunes got the basic premise wrong on this predator-prey dynamic. Coyotes can run up to 45 mph, making roadrunners an easy catch for them, no ACME antics required.
Tarantulas, tarantula hawks, scorpions, and rattlesnakes: just a few of the terrifying creatures that roadrunners regularly catch and swallow
But don’t go feeling too sorry for them. Unlike their happy-go-lucky mascot, roadrunners are pretty predatory themselves. Their quick reflexes and omnivorous appetites allow them to knock smaller birds from the air for a snack, snap up rattlesnakes, and feast on juicy tarantulas. They even eat tarantula hawks, two-inch wasps with one of the most painful stings known to mankind.
Aside from the heat of mid-day, when they fan out their tail-feathers for an energy-saving siesta, roadrunners can generally be found stalking whatever bugs and reptiles might be lurking in the desert scrub. When they attack, they clamp their victims in a strong beak and strike them against the ground repeatedly with enough force to stun or kill. One quick swallow finishes the job.
In short? That feisty blue guy who runs Wile E. Coyote ragged is more than a trickster. He’s a cold-blooded killer of some of the Southwest’s most venomous creepy-crawlers. Watch him wrangle his next meal and you’ll recognize a true descendant of the velociraptor if ever there was one. Good thing they’re only about two feet from head to tail-tip and weigh less than a pound, or it’d be pretty disturbing how frequently they criss-cross your path.
Oh, and as for that charming meep-meep: the call of the roadrunner is more of a whirring chirp with the occasional beak-clicking. All in all, the real roadrunners of New Mexico are a lot less colorful and quaint than their Warner Bros. depiction—but they make up for it with their badass hunting prowess. Keep on running, little ground cuckoo, and feel free to keep your distance next time we meet.
This post was brought to you by the nature enthusiasts at DesertUSA and the impressively high production value of this mini roadrunner documentary. Seriously, you should watch that clip.
