The mango tree at 125 Bukit Merah Lane 1 is a renowned hotspot among Singapore’s birding community, attracting a variety of species such as the Coconut Lorikeet (Trichoglossus haematodus), Blue-Crowned Hanging Parrot (Loriculus galgulus), Black-Naped Oriole (Oriolus chinensis), Asian Glossy Starling (Aplonis panayensis), Javan Myna (Acridotheres javanicus) etc.
I challenge all birders and nature enthusiasts to explore fruiting mango trees in their area – these birds might be living right on your doorstep! Here’s an example from Bukit Panjang, right beside a shopping mall.
Just yesterday, as I walked by the tree, I caught a whiff of sweet scent and spotted half-eaten fruits. As it was already 6:00 pm and birds were scarce, I was surprised to find a Lesser Dog-Faced Fruit Bat (Cynopterus brachyotis) feasting on a mango.
This species of bat is highly adaptable to urban spaces and is, in fact, the most commonly spotted bat species in Singapore.
A few months back, when the mangoes were ripe, many birds flocked to this particular mango tree to feast, particularly in the mornings. On one such morning, I recorded the following bird species visiting the same tree in Bukit Panjang.
Black-Naped Orioles have a clear fondness for mangoes! I’ve affectionately nicknamed them the “Wolverine” due to their striking yellow plumage, which reminds me of the iconic X-Men character’s costume.I spotted two Coconut Lorikeets regularly visiting this mango tree, and here’s one of them in action! Looks like it’s time for a cleanup – this bird is definitely a messy eater!Here’s a lovely female Blue-Crowned Hanging Parrot! While they’re often heard flying between spots, the best opportunities for photography are usually near mango trees located close to carparks or HDB corridors. In more natural settings, I tend to find them high up in the canopies of ficus trees, feasting on tiny figs.The Blue-Crowned Hanging Parrot gets its name from the distinctive blue crown found on males – which this one lacks. So, it’s pretty clear that this is a female!A Spotted Dove waiting for its turn to feast on the mangoes.Catching the sun’s rays, Asian Glossy Starlings can reveal their stunning iridescent green feathers (not in this case though) – and their love for mangoes is undeniable!When I first started birding, this species was still referred to as the Olive Sunbird – now it’s known as the Ornate Sunbird. Interestingly, I did spot one in the same tree, although it wasn’t feeding on the mangoes this time.The Javan Myna is another common sight on our local mango trees. Hey! Where is our own native Common Myna? In this case, it looks like a curious juvenile might be waiting for its parents to bring it some mango treats!And how can we forget the Yellow-Vent Bulbuls? They’re definitely enjoying their share of mangoes at this buffet!Well! Our winged friends also love the remains of the mango. An unidentified butterfly and possibly a wasp/hornet at the bottom of the picture. A special guest joins the party! This Sunda Pygmy Woodpecker isn’t here for the mangoes, but rather to lend a beak in pest control – a welcome helper for the mango tree! One of my favorite woodpeckers in Singapore, for sure!And of course, a common sight to see the weaver ants’ nest on mango trees!
In fact, when my friend visited the same tree the next morning, he spotted even more species, including a Common Iora (Aegithina tiphia) and a Pied Triller (Lalage nigra), in addition to all the birds I previously mentioned.
Let’s open our senses to the world around us! Notice the mango trees in your neighborhood – are they fruiting? Can you catch the sweet scent wafting from them? And do you hear the lively, screeching calls of the birds?
I challenge you to find your own mango tree teeming with life – I’m sure it’s waiting to be discovered!
While conducting nature guiding walks, one of the biggest concerns is often ‘Will the birds show up?’ After gaining a deeper understanding of relationships among the flora and fauna species within any ecosystems, I have come to realise that if birds are elusive, I can instead look for the tree species they tend to frequent. Trees, after all, provide a more reliable presence (barring events like lightning strikes or removal by authorities for various reasons).
One of the tree species I often look out for bird sightings is the Albizia Tree, specifically Falcataria falcata (see link from uforest for more detailed documentation of its physical features). Typically seen from a distance from boardwalks in nature parks or park connectors within secondary forests, these trees are notable for being among the world’s fastest-growing species (can reach maturity within 5 years), which has led to their popular use in reforestation projects.
So why are Albizia trees often located away from areas with high human traffic? It’s because they belong to the softwood species, characterised by low-density wood and a shallow root system. These features make them vulnerable, especially in a tropical equatorial climate with frequent lightning, heavy rainfall, and strong winds that can cause breakage of branches and uprooting due to soil erosion. Thus, many of those grown nearer to human traffic may have already been removed over the years. In fact, after googling more about the tree species, I found an article regarding NParks removing a patch of Albizia trees at the Bukit Batok Nature Park in 2017 due to safety concerns (See link). And specifically 10 years earlier in 2007, a Singaporean was crushed to death by a toppled Albizia tree, with two others injured (see link).
The two ways to identify an Albizia tree is its small compound leaves, smooth greyish bark. The other prominent features will be the tree cavities and broken branches. Read more to find out why.
Interestingly, the same characteristics that make Albizia trees potential safety hazards for humans also make them attractive to certain bird species, such as Lineated Barbets, Banded Woodpeckers, Long-Tailed Parakeets, Hill Mynas and Oriental Pied Hornbills (there may be many others which I have yet observed). The reason lies in the tree’s softer, lower-density wood, which is easier for woodpeckers to excavate cavities for nesting. Barbets may also exploit the more brittle or damaged areas with portions of dead wood to create their own cavities. In contrast, mynas, parakeets and hornbills often rely on existing cavities, using those vacated by other birds for nesting though they do have strong beaks to further shape the holes. Thus, the mynas, parakeets and hornbills are known as “secondary cavity nesters” i.e. they utilise cavities that have already been created by birds with strong beaks that are built for such purposes.
A Banded Woodpecker looking out of the cavity along Daily Farm Nature Park (between Singapore Quarry and MOE Dairy Farm Outdoor Adventure Learning Centre).A Long-Tailed Parakeet peering out from its home. There are so many other cavities above it. This explains why the integrity of the tree structure may be weak and hence a safety hazard.Two Long-Tailed Parakeets on an Albizia tree in either Rifle Range Nature Park or Hindhede Nature Park (I have forgotten where exactly I took this photograph).A Lineated Barbet further excavating a hole at Bidadari Park. It is not known if this is a dead Albizia that have been left there for birds to perch and nest (the bark seems too rough to be one). Bidadari used to have many Albizia trees before the park was opened (You may refer to one of the photographs from uforest)
The sparse foliage at the canopy of the Albizia tree also makes it an ideal spot for birders to look for raptors, which often perch on the tree’s horizontally stretching branches. This vantage point likely provides the raptors with an unobstructed view of potential prey from a significant height, a luxury not afforded by trees with denser canopies where leaves and branches would block their line of sight. In fact, the height, shape and structure of the branches also encourage raptors to construct their eyries on the Albizia canopy. This has been well-documented by many others. Below are some of the photographs taken by Gabriel and I that illustrate the above points.
An Oriental Pied Hornbill and a White-Bellied Sea Eagle perched on a dead Albizia tree in Punggol. Although the smooth grey bark hints at the tree’s identity, confirmation would ideally require the presence of leaves.A closer view of the smooth bark.A Changeable Hawk Eagle (dark-morphed) perched on an Albizia in Chua Chu Kang. (Photo by Gabriel Kang)The majestic pose of the Changeable Hawk Eagle. You can see the small leaflets of the Albizia in the background. (Photo by Gabriel Kang)Indeed, the Albizia tree is a favourite nesting place for raptors. You can see the eyrie (raptor’s nest) on this particular one in Chua Chu Kang. (Photo by Gabriel Kang)
I have also found a well-documented article from the journal publication “Nature in Singapore”, published by NUS whereby the Changeable Hawk Eagles and the Oriental Pied Hornbills nested on the Albizia in the Dover Forest. It is an enjoyable read for those who would like to find out more. (Click here to access the article)
In conclusion, the Albizia tree presents a complex trade-off between supporting biodiversity and posing safety risks to humans. Effective management of this dilemma requires a collaborative approach, with NParks working closely with the community and various stakeholders to make informed decisions that balance human safety with environmental conservation. Education plays a crucial role in this process, helping people understand the reasons behind tree removal and the importance of prioritising safety while supporting species biodiversity. For nature guides and birders, I hope this post provides valuable insights and fosters a deeper appreciation for the importance of flora in supporting the fauna we admire. Don’t forget your binoculars, as these trees are often located at a distance from walking paths for reasons already mentioned.
Thank you Siyang for providing information about the Albizia trees and Gabriel for the wonderful photos of the Changeable Hawk Eagles.
Just One Tree’ is a blog series that explores how individual trees support life. Each post delves into the unique ecosystem centered around a single tree, showcasing its vital role in sustaining various forms of life.
In this inaugural post of the series, I spotlight a particular tree along Upper Serangoon Road. I discovered this arboreal wonder while cycling to buy the famous Yong’s Teochew Kueh for my parents on the 9th January 2025. The tree stands within the vicinity of Anderson Serangoon Junior College (formerly Serangoon Junior College, where I studied for three months before transferring to Anderson Junior College in Ang Mo Kio in 1999).
What caught my attention was the tree’s unusual appearance – it was completely stripped of its leaves. My immediate reaction was one of concern and curiosity: What had happened to this tree?
Upon closer observation, I noticed dangling aerial roots, a characteristic feature that left no doubt about its identity. This tree is a Ficus species, most likely a Ficus microcarpa, as it is one of the most common Ficus species grown in urban areas.
The location of the tree is pinned. I documented the details about this tree at the bus stop area on the 9th Jan 2025. (Source: Google Map)By referring to Google Streetview, I caught a glimpse of the tree’s former splendor. Examining its structure and leaf arrangement, I was able to rule out Ficus benjamina, as it lacks the characteristic droopy appearance. Unfortunately, the resolution wasn’t sufficient to discern the leaf shape, making a definitive identification impossible. (Source: Google Street View)The fate of the entire tree as of January 2025: The visible green patches belong to an unknown climber and some epiphytic plants, not to the Ficus itself.There are other flora species at the base of the Ficus. On the left, it looks like a Noni tree (Morinda citrifolia) with a palm species growing below it. On the right is probably a wild cinnamon tree (Cinnamomum iners).
What’s Causing the Treeto Become Botak?
I parked my bicycle at the bus stop and approached the fence. Immediately, I found the answer: caterpillars! And not just any caterpillars, but Clear-Winged Tussock Moth (Perina nuda) caterpillars. Also known as the Banyan Tussock Moth, they weren’t just crawling all over the fence; they were also on the bus stop, the walkway shelter, and even on the ground.
As I was photographing them, one fell on my neck. I instinctively brushed it away in fright, worried that its bristles might cause an allergic reaction (fortunately, they didn’t).
Sighted the first one on the fence.You can see 5 of them of varying sizes on the metal pillar of the sheltered walkway. There are also a couple of flattened ones on the walkway, either unknowingly crushed by bicycles, PMDs or pedestrians. This particular pupa at the top of the sheltered walkway has already eclosed (i.e. emerged as a moth).More pupae on the Wild Cinnamon PlantAnd a lot more on the Noni plant too.
Predators of the Caterpillars: A Search for Evidence
Having previously observed numerous cuckoos feasting on Phauda flammans caterpillars infesting a Ficus microcarpa in Jurong Lake Gardens, I hoped to see more cuckoos on this tree. I scanned closely for any fleeting movements against the bright afternoon sun. Instead of cuckoo-sized birds, I spotted two flycatchers darting around in their signature fly-catching moves, repeatedly returning to their ‘favorite’ perches after aerial forays.
Initially, I expected both to be common migrants – Asian Brown Flycatchers (Muscicapa dauurica). To my surprise, one of them has an orangey throat! It was a female Mugimaki Flycatcher (Ficedula mugimaki)! Interestingly, this uncommon visitor appeared very drowsy, frequently closing its eyes while perched on a branch.
I first sighted an Asian Brown Flycatcher flying around the tree. But I was not able to document if it ate any of the caterpillars or its adult moth. A Mugimaki Flycatcher on a tree along the highly urbanised Upper Serangoon Road.How cute it is with its eyes closed. A front view of the tired Mugimaki Flycatcher.It occasionally opened its eyes before flying to another branch.
Without photographic evidence of either flycatcher species feeding on the Clear-Winged Tussock Moths or their caterpillars, I couldn’t conclude whether these hairy caterpillars are part of their diet. This is in contrast to cuckoos, which have been documented feasting on Clear-Winged Tussock moths in my previous blog post. Nevertheless, I am quite positive that the flycatchers may be feeding on the smaller caterpillars or even the adult moths.
A Black-Naped Oriole was observed to be consuming something. But due to the many obstructing branches, it was impossible to get a clearer shot of the content it was feeding on. Nevertheless, I have seen orioles eating all sorts of caterpillars so I am sure it does consume the Tussock Moth caterpillars.
While photographing, an attendant, possibly ASRJC’s Operations Manager, approached and spoke with me. He shared his recent discovery of the infestation and mentioned that despite spraying copious amounts of pesticides, the caterpillars persisted. I suggested letting nature take its course, pointing out the presence of three insectivorous birds in the tree during our conversation as evidence of nature’s self-balancing mechanisms.
After capturing over a hundred photographs, I finally departed to purchase the Teochew kuehs. Just thinking about the Koo Chai Kueh (Teochew Chives Dumpling) is making my mouth water now.
Takeaway for Readers: Ficus – Nature’s Keystone Species
Ficus trees are commonly recognised as ‘keystone species’ – organisms that have a disproportionately large impact on their environment relative to their abundance. If removed, these trees can cause significant changes within the ecosystem. Given their elevated status in the ecological hierarchy, it’s always worthwhile to take a closer look at Ficus trees. By doing so, you’ll learn to appreciate how they support a diverse array of fauna species.
For wildlife photographers, learning to recognise different Ficus species can be immensely beneficial. These trees are often hotspots of biodiversity, attracting a wide variety of birds, mammals, and insects. By identifying Ficus trees in your area, you can increase your chances of capturing diverse wildlife interactions and behaviours. Whether you’re interested in photographing fruit-eating birds, nectar-feeding insects, insectivorous birds or even arboreal mammals, Ficus trees can serve as natural wildlife magnets, providing you with excellent photographic opportunities throughout the year.
Update: 24th March 2025
A wildlife enthusiast (Lui Nai Hui) just shared two photographs of a male Narcissus Flycatcher, Ficedula narcissina, spotted in Dairy Farm Nature Park) munching on a Stinging Nettle Slug, a caterpillar that has painful stings with venomous hairs.
These photo-evidences clearly demonstrate that Flycatchers, like cuckoos, can consume potentially venomous caterpillars. Based on this observation, I am confident that both the Asian Brown Flycatcher and the Mugimaki Flycatcher fed on the Clear-Winged Tussock Moth caterpillars infesting the tree.
Allow us to introduce ourselves in a rather unconventional way. I’m Homo sapiens lucasensis trisilva, but you can call me Lucas Teo – that’s my ‘common name’. And joining me in this birdbrain adventure is my partner-in-crime, Homo sapien Gabriellus auricomus agaricus, better known as Gabriel Kang. Curious about Gabriel’s quirky scientific name? Check out his profile picture on his instagram i.e. gabriel.birdbrain (Hint: Google the meaning of auricomus and agaricus).
Anyway, here’s a thought experiment: try Googling “Lucas Teo” or “Gabriel Kang”. How many results do you get? Quite a few, I’d wager. This little exercise brings us to an intriguing question: Why do scientific names matter?
None of them is me. As a nobody, I wouldn’t be in the top searches.
The Challenge of Common Names
Common names, while convenient for everyday use within the same geographical area, culture and language, may lead to confusion and ambiguity in scientific contexts when applied across cultural and political boundaries.
Let’s consider the common kingfisher (Alcedo atthis) as an example. This striking blue and orange bird, found across Eurasia, is known by several names in English alone:
Common Kingfisher
Eurasian Kingfisher
European Kingfisher
River Kingfisher
Small Blue Kingfisher
Common Kingfisher shot in Jurong Lake Gardens (Credit: Gabriel Kang)
This diversity of names within a single language demonstrates the potential for confusion in scientific communication. The situation becomes even more complex when we consider names in other languages and cultures. For instance, in French, it’s known as “Martin-pêcheur d’Europe”, while in German, it’s called “Eisvogel” (ice bird). In Chinese, it’s fondly referred to as “Xiao Cui” (小翠). Such linguistic and cultural variations highlight the need for a standardised naming system in scientific contexts.
When the Common Names Mean Different Things in Different Countries
Many common names are based on physical descriptions, which can lead to further confusion. For instance, “bluebird” might refer to several different species across various families. In North America alone, there is a Western Bluebird (Sialia mexicana) and a Mountain Bluebird (Sialia currucoides)… and I believe there is also a Eastern Bluebird (Sialia sialis)?
While these birds share a similar blue colouration, they are distinct species with different hunting styles (though with many other similar behaviours and traits). Moreover, other blue-coloured birds like the Blue Grosbeak (Passerina caerulea) or Indigo Bunting (Passerina cyanea) might also be mistakenly called “bluebirds” by casual observers.
To further complicate matters, the term “bluebird” isn’t limited to North American species. In Singapore, we have our own Asian Fairy Bluebird (Irena puella), a strikingly beautiful bird with vibrant blue plumage. Despite its common name, this species is not closely related to the North American bluebirds. It belongs to a different family altogether (Irenidae) – related to leafbirds, while the North American bluebirds are members of the thrush family (Turdidae).
A female Asian-Fairy Bluebird photographed in Dairy Farm Nature Park, Singapore (Credit: Gabriel Kang)A male Asian Fairy Bluebird photographed in Dairy Farm Nature Park, Singapore (Credit: Gabriel Kang)
This example illustrates how common names can be misleading across continents. A birdwatcher familiar with North American bluebirds might be quite surprised to encounter the Asian Fairy Bluebird, which has a different appearance, behaviour, and ecological niche.
This issue extends beyond birds. The term “silverfish” is used for a specific insect (Lepisma saccharina), but can also represent the Antarctic silverfish (Pleuragramma antarctica), also known as the Antarctic herring – a true fish that swims in the sea. This example further illustrates how common names can lead to confusion across different animal groups, potentially causing misunderstandings in scientific discourse.
A silverfish is not a fish, but rather an insect, other than pelagic fish – Antarctic silverfish native to the Southern Ocean near Antarctica
These examples highlight how common names based on physical descriptions can be misleading, as many different species may share similar physical features. This is where scientific names become invaluable.
When the “Common” May Not Be Common
Sometimes, we see the adjective “common” being used to describe a bird or other aspects of the nature world. It may be misleading like a misnomer. I will be sharing two examples to illustrate this point i.e. the Common Myna (Acridotheres tristis) as well as the Common Kingfisher (Alcedo atthis).
The use of the adjective “common” to describe birds or other aspects of the natural world can sometimes be misleading or act as a misnomer. Two examples that illustrate this point are the Common Myna (Acridotheres tristis) and the Common Kingfisher (Alcedo atthis).
In the context of Singapore, the Common Myna is ironically no longer commonly seen, despite being a native species known for its high adaptability to urban environments. This decline is primarily due to the introduction of the Javan Myna (Acridotheres javanicus), a species originating from Java, an island in Indonesia in the 1920s. The Javan Myna has outcompeted its “common” counterpart, likely due to its superior ability to exploit limited nesting cavities in urban structures and trees. This competition has caused the Common Myna’s population to decrease significantly in Singapore. In fact, it is likely that the Javan Myna is the most common bird in Singapore right now. You may refer to this very comprehensive article from Bird Ecology Study Group to understand reasons behind their ubiquitous presence.
A Javan Myna perching on urban structures in a regular HDB settingA lone common Myna at Lorong Halus Wetland.
This example highlights how the term “common” in a species’ name may not always reflect its current prevalence in a given ecosystem, especially when factors like introduced species and habitat changes come into play.
During the migratory season, one of the kingfisher species that arrives in Singapore is the Common Kingfisher (Alcedo atthis). Despite its name, this bird is not commonly seen in Singapore, even during migration periods. The term “common” in its name refers to its prevalence in its native range, not its abundance in Singapore.
In contrast, the most frequently observed kingfishers in Singapore are:
The Collared Kingfisher (Todiramphus chloris)
The White-Throated Kingfisher (Halcyon smyrnensis)
A Collared Kingfisher feasting on an insect. Credit: Gabriel KangWhite-Throated Kingfisher shot near Pasir Ris Farmway area.
These observations, based on local birding experiences, highlight how the word “common” in a species’ name can be misleading when applied to different geographical contexts.
When Descriptors in Common Names Aren’t Unique
Two species of bee-eaters found in Singapore, the Blue-Tailed Bee-eater (Merops philippinus) and the Blue-Throated Bee-eater (Merops viridis), serve as excellent examples to illustrate why common names can sometimes be problematic for bird identification.
Both species actually have blue tails, which makes the “Blue-Tailed” descriptor in the common name of Merops philippinus potentially confusing. This shared characteristic demonstrates how common names can sometimes fail to highlight distinguishing features between similar species.
The key difference between these two bee-eaters lies in their throat colouration:
The Blue-Tailed Bee-eater (Merops philippinus) has a chestnut-coloured throat.
The Blue-Throated Bee-eater (Merops viridis), as its name suggests, has a blue throat.
Notice that the Blue-Throated Bee-Eater also has a blue tail. Credit: Gabriel KangBlue-Tailed Bee-Eaters perched on a tree looking for their next victims in Lorong Halus.
This example highlights the importance of looking beyond common names when identifying birds. For instance, considering the time of year can be crucial, as Blue-Tailed Bee-Eaters are not present in Singapore during the non-migratory season. More specifically, in this case, examining the throats of both bee-eaters provides a more reliable distinguishing characteristic.
Whilst common names can be helpful, they may not always capture the most distinctive features of a species, especially when comparing closely related birds. By focusing on these specific details, birdwatchers can more accurately identify and differentiate between these similar species, regardless of potentially misleading common names.
The Binomial Nomenclature
Scientific names provide a standardised system recognised globally. The scientific naming system indeed consists of two main components, described as:
Genus (e.g., Alcedo): Represents a group of closely related species. It is the generic name of the species.
Specific epithet (e.g., atthis): The second part of the scientific name that, together with the genus, identifies the specific organism. It is the specific name of the species.
The term ‘species name’ in scientific contexts refers to the complete scientific name, which is the combination of the genus and the specific epithet. This system is known as binomial nomenclature. In the case of the common kingfisher, Alcedo atthis, ‘Alcedo‘ is the genus and ‘atthis‘ is the specific epithet. Together, they form the species’ scientific name. This two-part system provides a unique identifier for each species within a genus, although the same specific epithet may be used in different genera. The genus is always capitalised, while the specific epithet is always in lowercase, and both are typically italicised or underlined when written.
Note: In some cases, scientists may use additional classification levels, such as subspecies, to denote distinct populations within a species or other taxonomic ranks to further classify organisms. However, the genus and species form the core of scientific naming.
The Importance of Scientific Names
Scientific names serve several crucial functions in biological research and conservation:
Precision in Communication: They provide distinctions between species of the same genus (which causes them to have similar characteristics), such as the common kingfisher (Alcedo atthis) and the blue-eared kingfisher (Alcedo meninting), or between the North American bluebirds (Sialia spp.) and the Asian Fairy-bluebird (Irena puella).
Evolutionary Understanding: These names reflect our current understanding of species relationships and evolutionary history. The first part of a scientific name, the genus, groups closely related species together. For example, between Homo sapiens (modern humans), Homo neanderthalensis (Neanderthals) and Homo erectus (an extinct human species), all these species share the genus Homo, indicating that scientists believe they are closely related and share a recent common ancestor.
Overcoming Descriptive Limitations: Unlike common names, scientific names are not entirely based on overly simplistic physical appearances, which can be deceiving. They provide a unique identifier for each species, regardless of how similar the species may look to others.
The Human-Cultural Element in Scientific Naming
While scientific names are primarily functional, they occasionally reflect human creativity, humour, and even diplomacy. For instance, the Spongiforma squarepantsii: A mushroom species named after the cartoon character SpongeBob SquarePants.
The recently discovered fungus species found in Borneo’s forests has been named Spongiforma squarepantsii, drawing inspiration from a popular cartoon character. (Image credit: Tom Bruns, U.C. Berkeley)
In another instance, a moth species, Neopalpa donaldtrumpi, as you can see, is named after President Donald Trump due to its golden scales on its head that looks like the president’s hair colour and style (Read this article for more details).
An intriguing example of the intersection between scientific naming and diplomacy can be found in Singapore’s practice of naming new orchid hybrids after visiting political leaders or important figures. This tradition, known as “orchid diplomacy”, began in 1957 and has since become a significant honour bestowed upon state visitors.
This practice not only showcases Singapore’s rich botanical heritage but also creates a lasting scientific legacy of diplomatic visits. Each of these specially bred hybrids receives a unique scientific name, following the International Code of Nomenclature for algae, fungi, and plants, while also carrying the name of the honoured guest.
These examples demonstrate how scientific naming can transcend mere classification to become a form of cultural expression, historical record-keeping, and even a tool for international relations.
Conclusion
Scientific names, whilst some of us find challenging to pronounce, serve as a universal language in the natural sciences. They provide precise identification, facilitate global communication among researchers, and offer insights into evolutionary relationships. Most importantly, they overcome the limitations of common names, especially those based on potentially misleading physical descriptions.
Whether it’s Homo sapiens, Alcedo atthis, Irena puella, or Spongiforma squarepantsii, each scientific name encapsulates a wealth of information about an organism’s identity and place in the vast tapestry of life. As we continue to explore and understand the biodiversity of our planet, the importance of this standardised naming system becomes increasingly apparent.
The next time you encounter a scientific name, consider it not just as a label, but as a key to unlocking a deeper understanding of the natural world. And let’s be honest, there’s a certain satisfaction in being able to remember and pronounce these names correctly among your fellow nature enthusiasts. It’s not about feeling superior, but rather about sharing a common language that connects us to the fascinating world of biodiversity.
Nevertheless, while scientific names are crucial for precise identification and communication in academic and professional settings, common names still have their place. For hobbyists and enthusiasts, using familiar, local names in casual conversations is perfectly acceptable and often more practical.
When we encounter young people with a deep passion for nature, we aim to nurture their meaningful pursuits. This blog post introduces Claire, a 16-year-old birding enthusiast I met during my guided nature walk in Pulau Ubin with the Humanities Club tuition centre. Her enthusiasm for birds is truly inspiring, and I hope her story will spark a similar appreciation for nature in others.
Mr. Joshua Lawrence and I, in yellow, with the rest of the wonderful participants for the guided nature walk in Pulau Ubin. Claire is indicated by the arrow pointing at her.
Claire has developed a particular affinity for birds, with a special fondness for Oriental Pied Hornbills. Her father, recognising her interest, has supported her passion by organising birdwatching trips to various locations, including Lorong Halus-Coney Island and Singapore Botanic Gardens.
As our group assembled at the Changi Village jetty, waiting to board our boat, Mr. Joshua Lawrence, the boss of the Humanities Club tuition centre, introduced me as the nature guide and a fellow birding enthusiast. Claire’s eyes immediately brightened, and she eagerly shared her birding experiences. She even showed me impressive footage she had captured of Golden-Backed Weavers constructing their nests in the Lorong Halus area.
Yesterday, I received a beautiful drawing from Claire, which she had submitted for the SG60 Design Pompipi competition. While her work didn’t make it to the final, I believe it deserves a wider audience, especially from our local birding community! I love how she deliberately included the silhouette of a mystery bird – as it reminds me of “Who’s that Pokémon?”. Claire shared with me, “Sometimes, I see the silhouette of big birds in the sky and I wonder what they are. So I just drew it in relation to that.”
Here it is, along with Claire’s description:
Title: “Birding at Gardens by the Bay”
Singapore has been developing for over 60 years, focusing on integrating nature into urban architecture. A prime example is the Supertrees at Gardens by the Bay, which mimic mature rainforest trees. These structures not only resemble trees but also host various live plants, including orchids and ferns.
My drawing illustrates how successfully we’ve incorporated nature into our urban landscape. It depicts birds at Gardens by the Bay, showcasing the harmony between our built environment and wildlife. As someone who is fond of birdwatching, I’ve included people engaging in birdwatching activities and featured various bird species found in Singapore. Can you name all the birds?
This artwork represents the successful blend of urban development and nature conservation in Singapore, highlighting how our city has become a haven for both people and wildlife.
I hope you enjoy Claire’s artwork as much as I have. It’s a testament to the passion and talent of our young nature enthusiasts.
Do you remember the Flappy Bird mobile phone game launched in 2013? The goal was to navigate a small bird through a series of obstacles, primarily green pipes reminiscent of those in Super Mario Bros. While this game was a simplified, virtual challenge, it inadvertently mirrors a real-world issue: the struggles of migratory birds in urban environments.
Migratory birds do face significant challenges while navigating Singapore’s urban landscape. These feathered visitors must contend with a complex maze of commercial skyscrapers, residential buildings (HDBs), bridges, and other man-made structures, reminiscent of the digital bird in Flappy Bird dodging obstacles. For example, in November 2023, a Peregrine falcon suffered a collision injury in Sengkang. Fortunately, it was successfully rehabilitated and subsequently released back into the wild (click here for the article).
Crest Secondary School – A Haven for Local Avian Wildlife
At my previous workplace, Crest Secondary School (a specialised school for students who are eligible for Posting Group 1), I earned the nickname ‘Birdman’ because of my love for birds. Whenever bird identification was needed, my colleagues would reach out to me.
The school boasts a spacious pond and a beautiful garden maintained by our beloved gardener, Auntie May, making it a haven for a diverse array of birds, both common urban dwellers and more exotic visitors. Beyond the usual Spotted and Zebra Doves, Javan and Common Mynas, Eurasian Tree Sparrows, House Crows, and Asian Glossy Starlings, the school compound has hosted a variety of other species.
Male Brown-Throated Sunbird photographed in the school’s Garden of Hope – the name bestowed to the garden. Credit: Gabriel Kang
Asian Koels frequent our mulberry tree, their distinctive calls often rivalling the school’s National Anthem in volume. Brown-Throated and Ornate Sunbirds are regular visitors to our ginger plants, while Collared Kingfishers can be spotted perched on the school roof, their calls resonating across the campus. Blue-Throated Bee-eaters adorn the rooftop antenna, and Rose-Ringed Parakeets feast on the fruits of our peacock flower shrubs. A resident Ashy Tailorbird adds its chirps to the chorus of student voices along the corridors.
Here is just a part of the entire garden in Crest Secondary School
When mango season arrives, we’re treated to visits from Coconut Lorikeets and Blue-Crowned Hanging Parrots, eager to join the fruity feast near the school carpark. Even Smooth-Coated Otters have made appearances, though their visits to our eco-pond have sometimes left a few fish casualties.
During migratory seasons between September and March, the school becomes a temporary home to unexpected avian guests, further enriching our wildlife experience.
Blue-Winged Pitta Trapped in Butterfly Enclosure
One such memorable incident occurred on 25th October 2018, involving a Blue-Winged Pitta (Pitta moluccensis). This migratory bird found itself in a series of misadventures on our school grounds. Initially, the Pitta had a close call when it collided with a classroom door while being chased by our resident cat. I intervened, shooing away the cat, and was relieved to see the Pitta, though startled, remain active and mobile. After that, I had to rush for lessons and couldn’t find time to attend to it. Later that afternoon, a colleague alerted me to the Pitta’s predicament – it had become trapped inside our Butterfly Enclosure, unable to find its way out.
Trapped inside the school’s Butterfly Enclosure
Recognising the urgency of the situation, I carefully removed the confused Pitta and placed it in a quiet box to recover from its stressful day. After allowing sufficient time for the bird to calm down, I chose a location for its release with great care. The school’s open field seemed ideal, offering ample space for take-off while being far from our resident cat. The latter consideration was particularly important, given the Pitta’s ground-feeding habits which make it vulnerable to feline predators. As I opened the box, the resilient Pitta took flight, disappearing into the distance – hopefully to find a safer temporary home on its migratory journey.
A closer view of it before I grabbed it and placed it in a box.I still remember the warmth on my palm and how it pecked me before I placed it gently into a box.
Black-Backed Dwarf Kingfisher Crashes into School
During my temporary absence from the school between 2019 and 2020, my reputation as the ‘Birdman’ lingered on. On one occasion, a colleague texted me about an exciting discovery: a Black-Backed Dwarf Kingfisher (formerly known as the Oriental Dwarf Kingfisher) had been found on school grounds. In the birding community, such a sighting would typically draw huge crowds eager to photograph this rare species, yet it had simply landed in Crest Secondary School. I simply advise them to contact ACRES (Animal Concerns Research and Education Society). The rare visitor was likely rescued and safely relocated as a result of this intervention.
To clarify, I am not trained in bird rescue. When such situations arise, I follow the expert guidance provided by ACRES. I have contacted them on several occasions to seek advice and assistance.
Unexpected Classroom Visitor: A Sparrowhawk’s Misadventure
On 15th February 2023, a Sparrowhawk (ID-ed by Tou Jing Yi as a Japanese Sparrowhawk) – Tachyspiza gularis, flew into a classroom during a Mother Tongue lesson. The bird collided with a glass window pane and fell to the floor, where it lay stiff but still breathing. Following ACRES’ advice, I examined the bird for injuries and sent a video to ACRES via WhatsApp for further guidance.
I then placed the Sparrowhawk in a cardboard box, included a bottle of warm water to maintain a suitable temperature within the box in the air-conditioned room, and covered it with a towel, leaving a gap for air circulation. We monitored the bird’s condition, keeping in touch with ACRES, for 3-4 hours before attempting to release it in an open field. It took two attempts before the Sparrowhawk successfully flew off into the open sky.
The sparrowhawk in a state of shock after falling off from the glass window pane
Not All Survived: The Black Bittern’s Last Flight
While we had a fair share of successful releases, one particular incident still haunts me to this day.
It was an ordinary morning when I received a call from a colleague. “There’s a bird sprawled on the ground outside the administrative block,” they said, concern evident in their voice. I rushed to the scene, wondering if it was a spotted dove or a rock pigeon.
As I approached, I immediately recognised the distressed creature – a Black Bittern (Botaurus flavicollis), a relatively uncommon migrant in our urban landscape. The bird was struggling and clearly in distress. My instincts kicked in, and I prepared my usual tools: an empty printing paper cardboard box and a soft towel.
Cautiously, I began to approach the Bittern. As I drew near, the Bittern, spooked by my presence, mustered what seemed to be its last reserves of strength. In a desperate attempt to escape, it launched itself into the air. The bird, disoriented and weak, flew directly into the building’s wall and plummeted two storeys to the ground.
As I stood there, shocked and guilt-stricken, I noticed a faint imprint left on the wall – a poignant reminder of the Bittern’s final flight. Could I have approached differently? Should I have been quicker? These questions plagued my mind, but I knew dwelling on them wouldn’t change the outcome.
A black bittern was discovered by a colleague to have clashed into our school building. While approaching it to put in into a box, it was spooked and clashed into the wall again, dying instantly. The carcass was collected by NUS for research.
Instead of calling ACRES (Animal Concerns Research and Education Society), I contacted Lee Kong Chian Natural History Museum (LKCNHM) to collect the bird’s lifeless body for research purposes (see contacts at the bottom of this post).
Contacted LKCNHM via Telegram for collection of the carcass. Update: the telegram is no longer in use.
BASIC ‘FIRST-AID’ FOR A BIRD IN SHOCK DUE TO COLLISON
ACRES has been invaluable over the years, consistently providing assistance when we’ve reached out. Even after my departure from the school, my colleagues have continued to rely on their expertise. I recall instances where ACRES even aided injured sparrow nestlings. However, as a charity organisation managing wildlife-related requests across Singapore with limited resources, they undoubtedly face significant challenges in meeting the demands of their crucial work.
Given the challenges faced by wildlife rescue organisations, it’s beneficial for individuals to have some basic knowledge of animal care. ACRES has provided valuable information on responding to “birds in shock”, which can serve as a useful form of triage in such situations.
The information above was sent via the ACRES WhatsApp, and it has been helpful in sharing this information with my former colleagues.
A crucial point to emphasise is the importance of refraining from feeding or giving water to a bird in shock. While many people’s natural instinct is to offer food or water when they encounter a distressed bird, this can actually be harmful. Despite good intentions, it’s not the correct course of action for a bird in shock.
Thank you ACRES for your services and always seeking better ways to support your cause. And also to all others parties such as NPark’s Animal Response Centre as well as LKCNHM’s deadbird hotline services.
To support with bird collision research, please help to fill up the details in the link provided by Nature Society Singapore (see external link for more details but I am not sure if the research is an ongoing one).
Happy 2025 to the Staff & Students of Crest Secondary School
Last but certainly not least, a heartfelt shout-out to the dedicated teachers at Crest Secondary School who continue to serve their educational mission with passion. A special mention goes to Auntie May for her tireless efforts in maintaining the school’s beautiful garden. To all the staff, we wish you the very best as you attend to your students’ needs. Stay well and keep up the fantastic work!
Some of the very dedicated teachers from Crest Secondary School. While two of us in the photograph (including myself, seated in the center) have left the school, the rest of the teachers continue to serve the students. It’s worth noting how dense the garden can be at certain parts of the school, adding to the campus’s unique charm.
Over the last month, a “Cuckooland” was discovered by the Singapore birding community in Jurong Lake Gardens, much to the delight of birders living in the West. Several species of migratory and resident cuckoos have congregated in the area, attracting wildlife photographers who adore these birds for their beautiful plumage and elegant silhouette. The diverse array of cuckoo species includes the Squared-Tailed Drongo-Cuckoo, Large-Hawk Cuckoo, Indian Cuckoo, Sunda Brush Cuckoo, Himalayan Cuckoo, Plaintive Cuckoo, Banded Bay Cuckoo, Asian Koel and the handsome Chestnut-Winged Cuckoo.
From the top in clockwise directions: Chestnut-Winged Cuckoo, Square-Tailed Drongo Cuckoo, Large-Hawk Cuckoo. (Credit: Lee Ching Yong, 2024)
The Parasitic Brooding Behaviour of Cuckoos
Cuckoos are particularly interesting due to their parasitic brooding behaviour, which birders have had the pleasure of observing and photographing. Singaporean birders have brilliantly captured images of various host species, such as Golden-bellied Gerygones, Ashy Tailorbirds, Pin-Striped Tit-Babblers, and Malayan Pied Fantails, feeding cuckoo fledglings that are often larger than themselves, belonging to species like the Little Bronze Cuckoo, Square-Tailed Drongo, Rusty-breasted Cuckoo, Plaintive Cuckoo, and even the well-known Asian Koel (which is also a member of the Cuckoo family)
A Pin-Striped Tit Babbler feeding its oversized Square-Tailed Drongo Cuckoo. (Credit: Anderson Ng, 2024)
Cuckoos – Our Pest Controllers
This unique gathering in Jurong Lake Gardens has also provided an excellent opportunity for bird enthusiasts to witness and document the feeding habits of beautiful cuckoos, which I’ll focus on in this post.
During a recent birding excursion with my friend Gabriel, we explored the area around Fusion Spoon, a known cuckoo hotspot. Despite not spotting any cuckoos that morning, we enjoyed sightings of migratory Warblers, Flowerpeckers, Tailorbirds, Sunbirds, and Pied Trillers as we strolled past the ficus trees.
A moment of delight came when a beautiful moth unexpectedly landed on Gabriel’s arm, adding a sudden splash of colour to our walk. Though familiar, we couldn’t immediately identify it. Our friend Ching Yong later joined us, sharing photos of caterpillars he’d spotted in the same area over the past few days. These caterpillars, found on the pavement, were likely dislodged by foraging cuckoos or heavy rain, hinting at the intricate ecological interactions unfolding around us.
The deceptively harmless-looking Phauda flammans moth, a notorious pest species, perched on Gabriel’s arm (Credit: Gabriel Kang, 2025)
Intrigued by our encounter, I later ‘Google-lensed’ the moth’s identity and made a fascinating connection: the moth that landed on Gabriel’s arm was the adult form of the caterpillar that Ching Yong had photographed. It turned out to be the notorious Phauda flammans, a species known for its destructive impact on specific Ficus trees, particularly Malayan Banyan (Ficus microcarpa) and Weeping Fig (F. benjamina), while leaving the other commonly seen Ficus elastica unscathed (see article).
On the left is a rather sparse looking unmatured Malayan Banyan (Ficus microcarpa) where the cuckoos love to perch and feed. Thanks Teo Siyang for the ID. A close-up view of the Phauda flammans caterpillar, a favourite delicacy of the cuckoos. The intricate pattern on this caterpillar’s body is reminiscent of the layered, rippled texture of the iconic Viennetta ice cream cake from the 1990s. (Credit: Lee Ching Yong, 2024)Another macroshot of the caterpillar’s head. (Credit: Lee Ching Yong, 2024)
This moth has gained infamy in recent years, particularly in Hong Kong, where it has been responsible for significant damage to various Ficus species (You may read about the article here), causing complete defoliation. Eggs are laid on leaves in the top of the trees and the larvae (caterpillars), upon hatching will start consuming right from the top. In Singapore, you may have noticed some canopy branches of Ficus trees losing their foliage. It’s highly likely that Phauda flammans is the culprit behind this damage.
The presence of these moths and caterpillars in the area not only explains the damage to the local Ficus trees but also sheds light on the reason behind the cuckoos’ congregation. These birds are capitalising on the abundant caterpillar population, which includes Phauda flammans and some tussock moth (Lymantriinae) caterpillars, as evidenced in other publicly shared photographs. This effectively transforms a potential pest problem into a bountiful feeding opportunity for the cuckoos. This ecological interaction has been visually confirmed by a fellow birder, Bai Qw’s photograph, which brilliantly captured a Large-Hawk Cuckoo (Hierococcyx sparverioides) feasting on these specific Phauda flammans caterpillars.
A Large-Hawk Cuckoo feasting on a Phauda flammans caterpillar with another one trying to escape its fate. (Credits: Bai Qw, 2024)
Ain’t Many of These Caterpillars Venomous and/or Poisonous?
Yes, many caterpillars are indeed venomous and poisonous. However, this fact doesn’t deter cuckoos from making these hairy creatures a significant part of their diet. In fact, cuckoos worldwide are well-known for specifically targeting hairy caterpillars that possess venomous spikes/bristles.
In New Zealand, Shining Bronze Cuckoos were documented feeding on venomous Gum-leaf Skeletoniser Caterpillars, Woolly-Bear caterpillars, Magpie Moth Caterpillar etc (refer to article for the New Zealand’s reference).
The secret lies in the cuckoo’s unique digestive system:
Protective Gizzard: The cuckoo’s gizzard is lined with a thick, protective mucous membrane.
Hair Trapping: This membrane traps the venomous hairs of the caterpillars.
Shedding Mechanism: As a defense mechanism, the bird periodically sheds patches of this membrane.
Regurgitation: The shed membrane, along with the toxic hairs, is regurgitated as a pellet.
Interestingly, the Bird Ecology Study Group has documented another intriguing behaviour: some cuckoos have been observed rubbing caterpillars against rough tree bark. This action likely serves to remove or reduce the number of irritating hairs on the caterpillar before consumption, further minimising the risk to the bird (see link).
Back in the Jurong Lake Gardens, the cuckoos were photographed to have consumed hairy caterpillars such as the Clearwing Tussock Moth Caterpillar (Perina nuda).
A Square-Tailed Drongo Cuckoo feasting on a Clear-Winged Tussock Moth (Credit: Bai Qw)A close-up shot of the Clear-Winged Tussock Moth discovered by Ching Yong near Fusion Spoon (Credit: Lee Ching Yong)
As for toxic caterpillars well-known for their aposematic colouring, photographers have caught images and videos of cuckoos thrashing the caterpillars such that the toxic guts spilled out before consuming them.
A Banded-Bay Cuckoo bashing and thrashing the caterpillar to remove the toxic guts and some of the hairs. (Credit: Bai Qw, 2024)
Thank You Cuckoos for Your Service
Before penning this post, I harboured doubts about Singapore’s ecosystem’s capacity to sustainably support the influx of migratory birds. Now, having witnessed this intricate dance between the Ficus trees, Phauda flammans caterpillars, and cuckoos, I’m positive about what our “city-in-a-garden” can offer to these beautiful visitors. It’s clear that our urban landscape offers more than meets the eye, providing a rich and complex habitat that can indeed sustain and attract diverse wildlife.
A heartfelt thank you to our feathered friends for their pest control services! Special appreciation goes to Anderson Ng, Bai Qw, and Lee Ching Yong for their stunning photographs.
As wildlife enthusiasts and photographers, we often find ourselves in situations that test our ethical boundaries. In 2024, I have experienced several moments, which led me to reflect on my own practices as well as my own role in promoting responsible wildlife photography.
An Uncomfortable Encounter
Stork-Billed Kingfisher photographed in August at the Singapore Quarry
My first clear photo of a Stork-billed Kingfisher came under circumstances that left me feeling uneasy. At the Singapore Quarry, surrounded by over 30 other birders, I witnessed behaviour that I now regret not addressing. Some individuals were tossing whole slices of bread into the water to gather the fishes to a particular spot where the photographers were aiming at. The ripples created by the fishes lured the kingfisher from a distant tree, prompting it to dive before perching right in front of us. I took a few shots, feeling conflicted – admiring the beautiful colours of the kingfisher in such a close distance but yet feeling guilt-stricken.
The act of tossing bread into the water started triggering more hunting behaviour in various birds present, including the Grey-headed Fish Eagle and Oriental Darter.
The Motivation Behind Unethical Practices
The primary objective seemed to be capturing dramatic shots: “Birds in Flight”, photographs, “Fish in Mouth” images i.e. action shots preferred over standard perched bird photos. This practice raises several concerns. Bread lacks nutritional value for wildlife, adding empty calories to their diet. Uneaten bread may pollute the water. Moreover, feeding wildlife, in general, is discouraged and often prohibited.
Feeling conflicted, I decided to act on my discomfort. I left Singapore Quarry after just 10 minutes, despite usually spending over an hour birdwatching. This decision meant missing the Oriental Darter’s and the Grey-Headed Fish Eagle’s feeding behaviours.
Unfortunately, the incident at the Singapore Quarry isn’t isolated. Similar unethical behaviours have been observed across various locations, highlighting a concerning trend in wildlife photography.
At Dairy Farm’s small pond, I’ve heard about a small group of individuals releasing feeder fish, feeder shrimps and glofish to get the Blue-Earred Kingfisher’s ‘Food-In-Mouth’ photographs. Social media has become a showcase for these questionable practices, with posts featuring blue-earred kingfishers capturing non-native fish species. Even more troubling are the discussions among photographers about which fish species to introduce next for ‘ideal’ shots.
The issue continues during this year’s migratory season when Singapore becomes a temporary home for exotic birds, drawing large crowds of eager birders. In the newly opened Bidadari Park, rumours circulated about individuals releasing American Bull Frogs – typically sold in aquarium shops as live feed – to entice one particular Ruddy Kingfisher. Over several weeks, numerous photographs emerged showing this kingfisher with non-native frogs in its mouths, raising ethical and environmental concerns.
These practices not only disrupt natural ecosystems but also potentially harm the very wildlife we aim to appreciate and document. They represent a fundamental misunderstanding of our role as observers and documentarians of nature, prioritising a perfect shot over the wellbeing of the subjects we photograph.
As wildlife enthusiasts and photographers, we must recognise the far-reaching consequences of these actions. It’s crucial to foster a community that values ethical practices and respects the natural behaviours and habitats of wildlife. Only then can we truly capture the essence of nature without compromising its integrity.
I Can Do Better Myself
The enthusiasm for capturing great wildlife shots is something I understand all too well. Like many others in this field, I’ve had my own lapses in judgment, particularly when it comes to approaching birds too closely, even near their nests.
One incident from earlier this year stands out, leaving me with a profound sense of guilt and shame. While cycling with my family in Pasir Ris Park, I spotted a Large-Tailed Nightjar. Excited by the sighting and without my usual zoom camera, I approached the bird with just my smartphone, hoping for a clearer picture. My actions frightened the nightjar, causing it to fly away and expose its eggs.
A fellow birder who was following behind me, witnessing this, sternly warned me against sharing the location and reprimanded me for my close approach. Although I initially tried to justify my actions, deep down I knew I was wrong. I silently thanked her for the reminder about my actions and the greater mission we share as wildlife enthusiasts.
An unethical handphone shot of the Large-Tailed NightjarThe moment I saw the two eggs after the mum flew off, I was guilt-stricken.
Beyond the incident with the nightjar, I’ve faced other ethical challenges in my wildlife photography journey. The temptation to handle wildlife such as snakes, lizards, and frogs for that perfect shot has been a recurring struggle. However, each of these experiences has become a valuable lesson in restraint and respect for nature.
Moving Forward
As I continue to grow in this field, gaining both experience and credibility, I’ve come to realise the importance of not only improving my own practices but also gently guiding others. Educating fellow enthusiasts about responsible wildlife watching has become an integral part of my mission. It’s crucial to remember that this journey towards ethical wildlife photography is an ongoing process. All of us who share this passion for nature and wildlife photography are constantly learning, adapting, and hopefully, improving.
By openly discussing these challenges and sharing our experiences, we create a community of more conscientious observers and documentarians of the natural world. This collective effort to balance our enthusiasm for capturing wildlife with our responsibility to protect it is what will ultimately ensure that our passion contributes positively to conservation efforts rather than inadvertently causing harm.
What are your thoughts on this issue? Have you encountered similar situations?
birdbrainsg 