What is it that looks like a turkey, and works like a horse? Actually, nothing exactly matches those qualifications, but the Mallee Fowl of Australia comes close.
It is only the male of species that works so strenuously, though his mate also labors in her own way. The cock Mallee puts in up to eleven months of hard labor every year, striving to cope with a unique problem presented by his hen.
The problem is the size of her eggs. She is about the size of a domestic chicken, and weighs perhaps 3 ½ pounds. Her eggs, however, are more than three times the size of chicken eggs, weighing about half a pound each. Since the nest contains eight to ten eggs at a time throughout the laying season, Poppa Mallee has a large problem: There is no way Mrs. Mallee can cover all those eggs to keep them at the right temperature.
The Mallee cock has an answer, and it is the reason he is called the “incubator bird,” or the “mound-builder.” Since his mate can’t hatch the eggs, he arranges an artificial incubator. Sand and damp vegetation are his raw materials. But in the desert interior of the Australian Continent, even this presents a problem. That is why his work continues through so many months.
He begins in the winter, by digging a pit 6 feet wide and 3 feet deep. Into this pit he piles all the plant material he can scavenge within 50 yards around the site. After the winter rains have soaked the leaves and bits of brush, he covers the pile with a layer of sand. As the damp mulch begins to decompose, fermentation sets in giving off quantities of heat.
For the next 4 months, the cock Mallee tends his “cooker,” uncovering the pile periodically to turn and stir the mixture, and vent off excess heat and moisture. When the laying season arrives in the spring, his incubator is ready for occupancy. If he had waited until spring to begin his preparations, all would have been in vain, for normally there are no rains in the spring, and thus there could be no fermentation to generate heat.
We might think that after the egg laying has commenced, he could take a well-deserved rest, but such is not the case. Instead, his routine becomes even more demanding, because now he must keep the nest at a constant 91 degrees F. (33 degrees C.). During the spring, night and morning temperatures are low, while afternoons are usually warm. Consequently, he is constantly busy, either building up the sand layer atop the nest to hold in heat, or taking it off to prevent overheating.
To aid him in his determination as to what is needed at any given moment, he has a remarkably accurate “thermometer” built into his mouth. If we were to observe him at work, we would see him frequently pause to dig his beak into the pile for a mouthful of sand. He lets this sift slowly out the sides of his bill as he takes the pile’s temperature.
As summer succeeds spring, the heat potential of the mulch falls off. This is fortunate, for now solar heat not only replaces the internal source, but also brings new problems. Now, the blazing noontime sun would cook the eggs in short order if they were not protected. Father Mallee does this by adding more sand, as long as this is feasible. But when the layer reaches a thickness of 3 feet, his limit is reached. By this time he has moved almost 20 cubic yards of sand and earth, using only his feet. Some of this mass he must remove and replace twice a day – making it thinner when the precious eggs require more heat from the morning sun, and thicker when the sun beats down too strongly.
By midsummer, however, this system is no longer adequate to protect the eggs. So Poppa Mallee installs a “refrigeration system.” In the morning, when breezes are cool, he spreads out large quantities of the sand covering to cool. Then, before the sun gets too hot, he digs troughs in the remaining cover and fills them with the cool sand, adding additional top cover for insulation.
By the time autumn arrives, most of the clutch of eggs will have hatched, but there will still be several of the last-laid eggs in the nest. Now Poppa Mallee has the reverse of the midsummer problem: His eggs are in danger of growing too cold. He solves this by reversing his summer strategy: Instead of introducing cool sand into the nest environment in the morning, he now brings in warm sand in the afternoon, having spread the sand to heat while the sun was high.
Throughout all these long months of weary labor, Mrs. Mallee hardly raises a feather to help. But we must remember that she is laying eggs at approximately weekly intervals, each of which takes from her about 12 per cent of her bodily resources. The 35 eggs she lays in a season equal more than 4 ½ times her own weight! Truly, she labors prodigiously in her own way.
Ironically, all of the Mallee Fowl’s work is expended upon the unhatched eggs. After they hatch, the chicks are entirely on their own, and life presents a struggle at the outset. After breaking out of the shell, they must burrow out of the incubator mound. Many are not equal to the task and suffocate. Those that succeed are generally so exhausted that it is all they can do to crawl to the shelter of the nearest shrub. But, after a rest, they scurry off and within a day or two are able to fly and look after themselves.
Most chicks never see their parents, and certainly they learn nothing from them about the techniques of mound-building. Yet, when their time comes to mate and reproduce, they somehow know exactly what they must do.
How shall we explain this? Instinct is the answer, of course, but whence cane the instinct? Let us recall that the incubator mound must be kept at a constant temperature for about 7 months, through a succession of seasonal changes and daily temperature cycles. The cock Mallee Fowl cannot afford even one lapse, for it could kill the eggs. But the important consideration is that this has always been a strict necessity in every generation – else there would have been no following generation. In other words, they had to be equipped with the specialized knowledge needed for survival from the very first. There was never time for trail-and-error development of the technique.
There is only one way these incubator birds could have come by the skills they must have and that is for Someone to build the proper instincts into them. That Someone is God. The Bible says He created each type of animal, each variety of life, “after its kind.” That is to say, he made each species to fit its particular niche in our world. He created a place for each, and each for its place.
That is true of you and me, also. The Apostle Paul spoke of God’s creation with these words: “The God who made the world and all things in it, he, being Lord of heaven and earth, doesn’t dwell in temples made with hands, neither is he served by men’s hands, as though he needed anything, seeing he himself gives to all life and breath, and all things. He made from one blood every nation of men to dwell on all the surface of the earth, having determined appointed seasons, and the boundaries of their dwellings, that they should seek the Lord, if perhaps they might reach out for him and find him, though he is not far from each one of us. ‘For in him we live, and move, and have our being…’” (Acts 17:24-28)
God is nearby, even this very moment. Let us honor Him as our Maker and worship Him as our God.
(Scripture is quoted from the World English Bible translation.)