Sparrows perched on empty market stall holder, Yakutsk, 2010
Since I recently posted about the local zoo-park creatures, I've been wanting to write about the local urban-dwelling fauna. Unlike Edmonton, there are no cats & rabbits lurking on the streets; as for birds, I miss the ubiquitous magpies and chickadees. However, Yakutsk is home to two rather fascinating societies -- that of the dogs, and that of the sparrows.
Sparrows in the first snow, Yakutsk, October 2010
When I first arrived this fall, I of course eagerly looked about to see what birdlife make Yakutsk their home. Since then I've become acquainted with occasional flocks of waxwings, the odd woodpecker amongst the small birches, crows, many titmice, & a few stray pigeons near the market (I think they stowed away with some vegetables coming up from a more southerly place!) but the overwhelming majority of the urban birds are plump, tough, cheerful little house sparrows.
Dust-bath time for sparrows in my street, Yakutsk, October 2010
They are absolutely everywhere, and they pretty much run the place. They chase off other, larger birds from breadcrusts tossed by the baker in the Old Town, sometimes even having the nerve to fly right up & perch on her bread-loaves, pecking stray seeds from top. They squabble and squawk and play in the puddles and autumn dust-piles by the sides of the roads; they roost under the buildings, inside of fountains turned off for the winter, under the footbridges, in the roof-nooks of the old wooden houses, and pretty much in any warm crevices they can find. Where I live in the university dormitories, students use their outside window ledges as refrigerators (freezers, now that it's -40C) and I often wake to the sounds of little beaks peck-pecking away at the frozen treasures outside. (some things I do leave intentionally for them, of course...)
Old Town fence post sparrow dwelling, Old Town, Yakutsk 2010
They are very cheeky little creatures, and I admire their resourcefulness and resilience. When it gets cold, they of course puff themselves up to at least three times their summer size, but some of them are especially clever & fly right into the shops to warm up. The human-people don't mind, because eventually the sparrow-intruders fly right out again once they are warm enough, and people here are very sympathetic to being cold! I am always amused, though, to the see flutter of wings out of the corner of my eye while getting things off the shelf, and to find a small cheeping creature perched on top of the cereal-boxes.
Dogs on Prospekt Lenina, basking in the last of the sun, September 2010, Yakutsk
As for mammalian life, if urban Edmonton is populated by just as many wild hares as people (so it seems sometimes) the analogous non-human civilization in Yakutsk is that of the dog. Like many northern towns, Yakutsk is populated by a parallel canine society. There are hundreds of them, wandering about, minding their own business, going about their dog-lives.
This might seem a bit frightening -- and when I arrived at the airport and was greeted in the 5am darkness by a bunch of large leashless huskies meandering about, I was a bit unnerved -- but I have come to relax around the local canines. They are not aggressive; like a city hare or squirrel in Canada, they are fairly shy and rarely come near people. I've asked many people if they've ever been bitten, & no one I know has. The dogs walk along the sidewalks and skitter through the courtyards, sometimes in twos or threes, but never in packs, and the only time I have seen one become agitated is when a human pedestrian came too close to a bush where a mother dog was tending her puppies. So I just keep a respectful distance, & remain constantly thankful of my rabies shots.
(Basically, they are not scary. Walking home the other night, I was thinking how I would rather run into a cranky dog than a cranky Russian dude. So that should tell you something.)
Platon Oyuunsky (famous Sakha writer) outside the Sakha theatre, accompanied by his loyal dog-friend, Yakutsk, September 2010.
I am used to seeing them running in & out from their lairs -- they live underneath the raised buildings here (they are on pillars about 0.5m to 1m off the ground because of the permafrost) in the warm caverns, used to seeing them wait at the crosswalks to cross the road, scuffling in the garbage piles, trotting about greeting each other, tail-wagging instead of hand-shaking, sharing the city with the humans though remaining quite separate & independent while doing so. They do their own thing, & to my human understanding, it all seems very organized and systematic.
They are simply part of the city, part of the place; they are citizens too. This is not uncommon in other Russian cities; there's an article here about Moscow's subway-riding metropolitan dogs! (I should warn you the beginning of the essay is a bit violent). Here in Yakutsk, people do seem to know their local dog-neighbours; the market sellers and many babushkas stop to feed them, and they also manage to do pretty well for themselves keeping the city rat population at bay. They sometimes get adopted, too, I know; people have said they've taken in puppies they find living near their buildings. Their skills at rat-catching luckily prevented the local government from culling the population, and some animal shelters (a rarity in this part of the country) have started up in recent years as well. However, there are just so many of them, & unfortunately, I think the -50C temperatures mean that some that are not big & strong enough by wintertime don't always make it.
Small one trotting down the steps, Yakutsk, November 2010
Last month, my heart broke when a small one followed me, whining, for about a block. I had no food with me, but I went to a shop & bought some deer meat. Returning to the place where the dog had been, I saw no sign of him, but I left the meat nearby. If I could not feed him, I thought, at least I could feed some of his comrades. Since then, I have occasionally been buying small sausages & little bits of meat & leaving them places that the dogs in my neighbourhood frequent, just as little snacks.
I feed the sparrows and titmice too; I have a large screenless window, so I often leave pumpkin and sunflowers seeds & bread crumbs out on the ledge as a wee smorgasbord for my other neighbours. People here are kind enough to take pains to feed me well, & so the least I can do is feed the other locals when I can.
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