When Two or More Gather
Dr. Scott Shalaway, www.shalaway.com
 Many
of us owe our interest in natural history to books or films we experienced
as children. Some of the information may have been less than accurate,
but at least it got us thinking about nature.
The first lessons were simply naming the players — deer, skunks,
owls, elephants, lions. But we also learned some of the terms for
animal groups. Disney's The Lion King, for example, taught my daughters
about "prides of lions." They learned of "wolf packs"
from Julie of the Wolves by Jean Craighead George. And Richard Adams'
Watership Down introduced them to "rabbit warrens."
Such terms are perhaps bits of inane trivia, but they can come
in handy while watching Jeopardy. And what better way for a child
to impress a parent at the dinner table (or vice versa) than by
casually referring to the "murder of crows" in the backyard
or the "intrusion of cockroaches" in the bathroom?
Many biologists keep lists of such collective terms, and I'm no
exception. But my informal list became moot many years ago when
I discovered a book by James Lipton entitled, An Exaltation of Larks,
2nd edition (1977, Penguin Books). Not only is Lipton's list impressive,
but he also explains the origins of some terms and offers a explanation
for such group names in the first place.
Lipton credits Sir Arthur Conan Doyle as one source of these expressions.
In 1906, post Holmes and Watson, the legendary mystery writer wrote
a historical novel called Sir Nigel. Nigel was the protege of Sir
John Buttesthorn, the head huntsman to the King. Sir John's greatest
fear was that young Nigel's ignorance would someday embarrass both
of them.
"I take shame that you are not more skilled in the mystery
of the woods, seeing that I have had the teaching of you,"
Sir John worried.
Among the many lessons Sir John taught young Nigel is that, "...for
every collection of beasts of the forest, and for every gathering
of birds in the air, there is their own private name so that none
may be confused with another."
Here are some names of animal congregations. While some may be
familiar and even make sense, others strike me as strange and inexplicable.
Invertebrates: A bed of oysters or clams. A smack of jellyfish.
A plague of locusts. A business of flies. A swarm of bees. A colony
of ants.
Fish: A shoal of bass. A school of fish (Some sources consider
this is corruption of "shoal.") An army of herring.
A hover of trout. A shiver of sharks.
Herps: A bask of crocodiles. A knot of toads. A bale of turtles.
Birds: A chain of bobolinks. A gulp of cormorants. (Birders familiar
with the voice of the American bittern might want to claim "gulp.")
A raft (floating on water) of ducks. A convocation of eagles.
A charm of finches. A stand of flamingos. A kettle (a large number
spiraling upward in flight) or a boil (just a few spiraling upward)
of hawks. A siege of herons. A party of jays. A parliament of
owls. A covey or bevy of quail. An unkindness of ravens. A wisp
of snipe. A wedge of swans. A fall of woodcock.
Mammals: A shrewdness of apes. A skulk of foxes. A tower of giraffes.
A bloat of hippopotami. A cackle of hyenas. A leap of leopards.
A labor of moles. A piddle of puppies. A romp of otters. A prickle
of porcupines. A sounder of swine. A crash of rhinoceroses. A
scurry of squirrels. A streak of tigers. A watch of Swiss. A fifth
of Scots. A pint of Irishmen. A torque of mechanics. A flush of
plumbers. A travesty of transvestites. A galaxy of astronomers.
A portfolio of brokers. An aroma of bakers. A column of accountants.
A shower of meteorologists. A pound of carpenters. A lot of car
dealers.
Though some of these terms are used by biologists, many are literary
with roots reaching to the Middle Ages, and many Lipton just made
up. If you enjoy word play, concoct a few of your own and send them
to me. In a future column, I'll print (and credit) your best efforts.
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