In Edward Albee’s play, “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” George, the host at a late-night party, tells the guests about how faculty wives “gather at the downtown A&P like a bunch of geese.”
The guest “corrects” George by saying the proper term is “a gangle of geese, not a bunch.” Well, the host, played by Richard Burton, points out that if the guest is “going to be cute and ornithological about it,” the correct term is “gaggle, not gangle.”
Which makes us ask, what do geese do when they congregate to qualify as a gaggle? In flight, geese generally constitute a flock or a skein, but on the ground, they’re a gaggle.
Nouns of assemblage, usually descriptive of fowls, give virtually no clue as to why it’s all right to refer to a herd of cows but not of lions. Lions hang out in a pride, and fish are in schools.
There’s a suspense movie, “A Murder of Crows,” starring Cuba Gooding Jr., the title of which refers, of course, to crows but doesn’t explain what’s murderous about them. Could enough vultures, as opposed to crows, constitute a murder? Not likely, as vultures’ meals of choice have already been murdered and are now road kill.
Let’s examine some of the groups:
Ants, bats and beavers appear in colonies; herds pertain to antelope, buffalo, cattle, deer, donkeys, elephants, gnus and turtles. Well, maybe not really turtles, but it’s a euphonious combination: herds of turtles. A bunch of turtles is a bale.
A gnu, that funny-named animal also known as a wildebeest, is called an implausibility when it gets together with its friends. Why an implausibility? What could a gnu possibly do to earn such a title? When the gnu headmaster needs to discipline one of its gnu pupils, does the principal do the honors, or does it advise the mommy to “paddle your own gnu”? And maybe that’s gnus to you.
And which animals appear in packs? Dogs, grouse, hounds, wolves and rats. Which animal doesn’t fit? The grouse, a fowl, doesn’t really congregate the way wolves do. A swarm might be more apt, the way bees and flies are categorized.
Coyotes, which share many cultural and behavioral features with wolves, don’t run in packs but in bands. So do gorillas. The primates handle the drum section, while the wolves provide the brass.
Some classificologists must have worked overtime concocting names for these collective nouns.
Try to explain why and how the following got their designations:
A shrewdness of apes, an intrusion of cockroaches, a quiver of cobras, a cowardice of curs, a troubling of goldfish, a troop of baboons, a float of crocodiles, a tower of giraffes, a mob of emus, a gang of elk, a leash of greyhounds, a charm of goldfinch, an unkindness of ravens, a mischief of mice, a parliament of owls, an ostentation of peacocks and a rhumba of rattlesnakes.
The most fitting term refers to peacocks, which by nature like to strut and preen, showing off their multi-colored plumage. The least fitting noun of assemblage applies to the classy Latin dance rattlers perform.
We’ve covered a host of classifications (aware that “host” refers to a bunch of sparrows) for the animal kingdom. And we find the makings of musical entertainment. That should be pleasing to birds collectively, as they, well, congregate and are therefore called a congregation. And congregations, at least those we join on Sundays, are known for their music. Some categories make perfect sense.
A bunch of larks would constitute an exaltation, a reason to celebrate. But I have problems with the generic term for ferrets and vultures. The ferret, a variety of polecat that comes from the Latin “fur thief,” makes it his business to go after rabbits. And that’s probably why a bunch of these creatures is called a business.
It gets worse for vultures, who in large numbers are a committee. Now committees of vultures, which feast on carrion smashed on the road or desert are probably no less productive than many human committees.
I can imagine a committee of vultures gathered around a freshly killed coyote on the road. One of them might say, “Madame chairwoman, I nominate Fred over there to look into acquiring spatulas for all of us to make it easier for us to eat.”
And finally, we might even apply some terms for large groups of humans, such as a shamble of economists, a grumble of conservatives, a tumble of gymnasts and a fleecing of politicians.
I’ve wondered about this for decades, but never knew where to start finding out about it. There is no English Language Academy, is there, explaining what collective nouns to use? When I was a reporter, nobody ever edited my copy to put an animal together with its proper group. There was no style sheet to follow. I don’t think there’s a section in the AP Stylebook, but there may be. Where did this get started? Are individual creative writers responsible? It was probably cute and interesting the first time a writer reported on a tumble of gymnasts, but does it have to set a precedent? And when does the precedent become an awful cliche? We get used to hearing “a herd of cattle,” but an “ostentation of peafowl?” Yes, we know how well the male of the species can show off its tailfeathers, but using “ostentation” more than once in a lifetime seems trite. And imagine writing a 100,000 word book about peafowl. Would you have to write “ostentation” every time you described how they went from one pen to the next? Not knowing what the term for multiple fireflies is, I might feel pretty witty if I called them “a lightning,” but I would hope no one would do it again. People get serious about this, and why? I was the subject of a letter-to-the-editor once, because I used a direct quote, “a bunch of horses,” from a source. The letter writer said it showed I didn’t know anything about horses. Thanks for shedding some light on this. And I’d welcome more.
Ben:
I appreciated your input and always look forward to more. I wonder about how and when all this started. I suspect someone used “congregation” or “herd” or “bale” to describe a single species, and the copy-cat syndrome kicked in. Nobody in his/her right mind would think of gaggle or pride without being sarcastic or else trying to be one-up. The terms could have come from folks like you and me, who have fun with the language and think “a fleecing of politicians” is appropriate. As you come across any theories, let me know.