The kitchen windows face due east. The narrow writing desk is as wide as the double windows and looks out at my deck. Ten feet away is the deck railing and a collection of different feeders. The Birch Perch is there and another five feet away there is a giant lilac bush that fills the yard with perfume in May. But this is wintertime and the only thing the yard is full of now is the hustle and bustle of hungry birds as they bicker with one another over food.

There is a group of species that are so reliable on a daily basis that I call them the “regulars.” I find it interesting to record who arrives at what time in the mornings to see if there is some sort of pattern. After 20 years of watching I can confirm that there is absolutely a rhythm to the comings and goings of the different birds, but this is nothing new. Anyone with feeders knows that some species prefer different times of day.

One thing that I have noticed, however, is that when you become so familiar with the schedules of the regulars, unusual events jump out at you very quickly. Only by seeing the same thing happen over and over can you become sensitive to something different and this can generate a lot of drama, excitement and joy. New faces are always interesting and some can make a big impression on you.

Such was the case a decade ago when, among the many faces of the regulars, a stranger appeared. The bird was about the size of a blue jay (perhaps a smidgen smaller) and, even though I had only seen one of these birds twice before, I recognized it immediately. Years and years of poring over one bird guide after another had proven useful. There was a Northern shrike (Laniusborealis) in the lilac bush.

My compulsive note-taking has provided me with an ever-growing library of the natural history of my yard. When I open up the red hardcover journal for 2015 to the correct page I see that the bird arrived on an extremely cold morning. At 7 a.m. the temperature was -7 degrees Fahrenheit and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Two hours later, the temperature had risen to 9 degrees Fahrenheit and one notation on the page reads, “A NOSH just spent 10 minutes in the tall lilac bush.” Apparently, this was a very special day because a little further down the page I see that a gray catbird also appeared on the deck a while later. But that is a story for another day.

Anyway, the NOSH (the first two letters of Northern and the first two letters of Shrike) was astoundingly cooperative that morning. Many birds can be fidgety and flighty, but this bird just sat in one place and took in the scenery, which makes perfect sense once you understand that the shrike is a fierce little predator. Among its regular targets, especially in winter, are the small birds that come to my feeders. So, the shrike came to see if it could find some food as well.

Unlike the owls and the hawks, shrikes only have their beaks with which to seize and dispatch their prey. The larger birds have formidable talons that can grab and severely injure their intended victims, but shrikes have “normal” feet. Thus, the beak becomes very important and the beak of a shrike has an interesting adaptation. On each side of the upper beak there is a pointed “tooth” that fits into a indentation on the lower beak. These structures serve the same function as the canine teeth in a dog or a cat; pointed structures for grabbing and killing prey.

Once a shrike is able to kill its prey it can rip the animal to pieces using the hook at the end of the upper beak. The small feet are sufficient for holding the prey while it is being consumed. Sometimes a shrike is able to collect more food that it is able to eat in the given moment and then a particularly interesting behavior kicks in. A shrike with an abundance of food will actually seek out plants with thorns, even barbed wire fences, where the extra food will be impaled and saved for later.

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Ornithologists noted this behavior with the genus name ”Lanius,” which means “butcher.” This also led to the colloquial name “butcher bird” for this beautiful species. So, year after year I have continued to watch the same spot for sign of a return visit from a shrike and year after year I have been disappointed. It turns out that the Northern Shrike is an irruptive species that only makes occasional forays to the south of its normal range in Canada on an irregular schedule.

In this way it is very much like pine siskins, common redpolls and pine grosbeaks; extending their normal ranges when food becomes scarce. Here in Massachusetts we find ourselves at the southern limit of the winter-irruptive range, so the birds are rare. Again, the reason makes sense, but that doesn’t make it satisfying.

Apparently, the conditions for a shrike irruption and my corresponding presence at the window has only successfully come together once in the past 20 years and to this day I have only spent 10 minutes watching that single individual in my lilac bush. It is quite possible that other birders across the state manage to see these birds more often, but at this point I only really care about seeing one myself. I saw my first shrike in 1993, my second in 2000 and the third in 2015. There is no reason to think a shrike will appear this year, but my vigil at the kitchen window continues. You never know.

Bill Danielson has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 27 years. He has worked for the National Park Service, the US Forest Service, the Nature Conservancy and the Massachusetts State Parks and he currently teaches high school biology and physics. For more in formation visit his website at www.speakingofnature.com, or go to Speaking of Nature on Facebook.