New York City is the only major metropolis in the United States that does not have a wildlife rehabilitation center. Now, that's about to change. In December, the Wild Bird Fund will open its doors to the hurt birds of New York. Come with Audubon to discover what this incredible non-profit has already accomplished for birds.

     
As a child, did you ever spend lazy summer afternoons gazing up at the sky, imagining shapes of fluffy whales and billowy crocodiles passing by? It seems such creatures—all vertebrates, in fact—may soon settle into a permanent cloud existence. No, not the cottony white variety, but the cyber kind.

   
Thinking about Rust Belt cities like Detroit and Cleveland, fresh, clean air may not be the first association that comes to mind. But the urban atmosphere contains more than just human pollutants; it’s also home to teeming communities of airborne microbes. A new study reveals an icky addition to residents’ daily microbial doses in the Great Lakes cities: bacteria from dog feces, and lots of it.

    
We’ve heard the horror stories: a deadly amphibian fungal disease called chytridiomycosis is sweeping through the world’s bogs and swamps, claiming the lives of untold numbers of frogs, newts, and salamanders in its wake. Batrachochytrium dendrobatidis, the fungal culprit also known as Bd, has already ended the existence of over 200 amphibian species in Australia, Europe, and the Americas. Conspicuously missing from the body count, though, are Asian amphibians, though the Eastern continent claims some of the greatest amphibian diversity in the world.

     
It’s tough to be sexy. In rough and tumble neighborhoods, boys compete to defend their turf and win the ladies’ hearts. A bird bent on starting a family and maintaining prime real estate needs to fight for that right, and it seems experience counts in this arena. It’s not those young whippersnappers who tend to goad on the rabblerousing—it’s the older gents who have been around the block. But hoary males don’t start feathery brawls to maintain their status. Instead, they incite their competitors with aggressive sing-a-longs of the most popular sparrow hits.

   
Guatemala’s highlands are an explosion of color. Volcanoes shrouded in jungley green loom over craterous jade lakes. Nature’s palette doesn’t stop in the forest, either. Indigenous Mayans celebrate the landscape by incorporating festive environmental images onto their hand-woven blouses. Each town has its own distinct style, and colors range from neon pink to sunshine yellow. For birders in particular, the Maya fashion is a must-see: ladies often boast shirts covered in dozens of intricate, hand-woven birds.

     
Like something out of a B-rated horror movie, the sea lamprey appears to be a slimy, writhing tube topped by a gaping, wound-like hole of a mouth. The mouth encompasses an entire cross section of its eel-like body and is lined with layers upon layers of pointed yellow teeth. With this mouth, parasitic sea lampreys attach themselves to fish, bore a hole into their victim’s body with their rasping tongue, and feed by sucking the blood and bodily fluids out of their still-living prey.

      
At 500 meters below the sea, it is utter darkness. All sunlight is blocked, and temperatures in the impenetrable murk hover at one or two degrees above freezing. If a human dared venture to these depths, the air would be squeezed out of her lungs before she had a chance to survey her surroundings. But if she did get a look around, she would find a rich and intriguing community of mostly small, slow-moving, slow-growing animals specially adapted to the ocean floor.

     
Beaks come in all shapes and sizes. From the egret’s elegantly tapered, skewer-like dagger to the vulture’s curved, razor-sharp shredder, bird beaks all serve a distinct purpose in nature. Until now, scientists have generally assumed that beak structure developed according to food needs—the egret can stab a darting fish, the vulture can rip flesh from carrion. But new research reveals these elegant structures can serve an additional need: temperature control.

Great adventure stories often contain a prescribed set of parameters: an unlikely hero, a journey fraught with trial and tribulation, and, of course, a villain. And who says these chronicles have to revolve around people? For South American burrowing parrots, evolution of the species reads like an adventure tale. New research reveals how these little guys managed to colonize new habitats in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles.