51 Bird Riddles with Answers

Ever wondered if you could outsmart a robin or crack the code of a cunning crow?

I asked this question because we are about to embark on a feathery quest to see if your knowledge of our feathered friends can take flight!

We have some amazing riddles about birds, from the backyard regulars to the exotic flyers you might only know from documentaries.

So get ready to scratch your head, unleash your inner bird watcher, and see how many of these avian enigmas you can solve.

Let’s begin.

Riddles about Birds

In icy realms, I wear a tuxedo, elegant and neat. I waddle on ice, but in water, I’m fleet. I cannot fly, but I love to swim. Who am I, with my black and white trim?
I’m known for wisdom, in myths and lore, with eyes so wide, I silently soar. At night I hunt, with a twistable head, found in the forest, not under your bed. Who am I, with my hooting call?
I am a symbol of peace, often white as snow. In tales of old, an olive branch I’d show. I coo and flutter in cities and parks, but who am I, known for my gentle marks?
With a crown of gold and a robe of blue, in tropical lands, I’m a magnificent view. I dance in the rain, with a song so loud, my presence, indeed, makes the forest proud. Who am I, with my colorful flair?
In deserts, I dwell, with a haunting cry, under the sun and the vast, open sky. My home is a nest on a cactus high, but who am I, with a watchful eye?
A flash of red, a cheerful song, in gardens and woods, I flit along. In winter, I’m seen, amidst snow so white, bringing color and joy to the brisk, frosty sight. Who am I, with my vibrant hue?
I’m known for my tail, as long as a kite, in jungles I’m found, a truly rare sight. My voice can mimic what others will say, but who am I, colorful and gay?
I’m not a singer, but I tap out a beat, on the trunks of trees, where insects I eat. My home is a hole, in the wood, I do carve, but who am I, with my sharp bill so arve?
I soar in the sky, with a wingspan so wide, over mountains and valleys, on thermals, I glide. I’m a symbol of power, in many a nation, but who am I, with such grand aviation?
On the ocean, I sail, with wings like a kite, I’m a master of winds, in my tireless flight. I swoop and I dive, for my food in the sea, but who am I, so wild and free?
In the marshlands, I stride, with legs long and thin, my beak like a spear, through the water, I spin. With a graceful neck, and a call that’s a thrill, but who am I, in the wetlands still?
I’m tiny and quick, with a buzzing sound, hovering in gardens, where flowers abound. I sip the nectar, with a beak so fine, but who am I, so small and divine?
Majestic in flight, with a neck outstretched long, in a V-formation, my kind throng. Over lakes and rivers, in migration we’re found, but who am I, with a honking sound?
I’m small and swift, with a chest puffed out red, darting through gardens, from flowerbed to flowerbed. My wings are a blur, as I hover and dip, but who am I, on nectar I sip?
With a crown of feathers, and a call of ‘whoop’, in African savannas, I gracefully swoop. I’m not your usual flyer, more a runner in stride, but who am I, with long legs to hide?
I’m known for my blue and green shimmering light, darting around rivers, a spectacular sight. My diet is fish, which I catch with a dive, but who am I, making the waterways come alive?
In Arctic climes, I’m a sturdy sight, with a thick coat of feathers, pure and white. I hunt in the cold, with a powerful beak, but who am I, silent and sleek?
With a laugh that echoes, in the Australian dawn, through eucalyptus trees, my voice is borne. I’m not really chuckling, but that’s my fame, but who am I, what’s my name?
In the dead of night, with silent wings, I swoop on my prey, a ghost in the dark, unseen in the light of day. My call is a screech, my eyes wide and bright, but who am I, a hunter of the night?
On cliffs I nest, with a shrill, piercing cry, soaring over oceans, where my wings never tire. My feet are webbed, my body streamlined, but who am I, with the sea intertwined?
I’m a bird of prey, with a hooded look, in deserts and plains, over these, I brook. My talons are sharp, my gaze is keen, but who am I, rarely seen?
In urban settings, I’m often a pest, with iridescent feathers upon my chest. I coo and I flutter, and I love to feed on whatever morsels I can find in the street. Who am I, often seen but seldom adored?
With a brilliant display of orange and black, in meadows and fields, I’m never slack. My song is a whistle, cheerful and clear, but who am I, a sign of spring near?
I’m a master of mimicry, with feathers so gray, in gardens and woodlands, I sing away. My repertoire is vast, from a bark to a trill, but who am I, with the voice to thrill?
In legends and stories, often I’m wise, an emblem of knowledge, under nighttime skies. In ancient Greece, I was a symbol divine, but who am I, in myth and in rhyme?
I’m a bird of the sea, with a colorful beak, in colonies large, it’s my mates I seek. With a clumsy waddle on land I’m known, but who am I, in the air gracefully flown?
In the morning, my song is a herald of dawn, perched on a branch, I sing on and on. With a breast of orange and a coat of gray, but who am I, that greets the day?
Black and white in appearance, a noisy bird, in treetops high, my caw is heard. I’m smart and crafty, with a love for things that shine, but who am I, in the tree line?
I’m a master fisher, with a long, pointed bill, in rivers and lakes, it’s fish I skillfully kill. With a swoop and a dive, my prey I snatch, but who am I, with the latest catch?
With a bobbing tail and a curious eye, in gardens and hedges, my presence is sly. I’m small and brown, with a song quite sweet, but who am I, with tiny feet?
In the rainforest canopy, I’m a flash of green, with a loud, squawking call, I’m often seen. I love to eat fruit, and my beak is strong, but who am I, with a squawk so long?
I’m a night singer, with a haunting tune, under the full moon, I croon and croon. With feathers so soft, and a ghostly hue, but who am I, singing “who-who-who”?
With a flash of blue and a cheeky call, in gardens and woodlands, I’m a wonder to all. I bury my food, for a later date, but who am I, small and great?
On African plains, I’m a scavenger known, with a bald head and a beak that’s bone. I clean up the waste, it’s a crucial chore, but who am I, with a caw and more?
I’m a bird of the desert, with a call like a laugh, hopping around, better than half. My plumage is brown, blending in with the sand, but who am I, in this arid land?
With a dazzling plumage of green and blue, in rainforests, I’m a sight to view. My tail is long, my body sleek, but who am I, with a voice unique?
I’m a wanderer of the shore, with legs so long, in search of food, I stride along. With a beak like a probe, in the mud, I delve, but who am I, by myself?
With a crown of feathers, and a raucous voice, in the jungle, I’m a noisy choice. I can mimic sounds, and I’m quite smart, but who am I, with a colorful part?
With a plumage of brown and a love for the trees, I hop and I peck, as much as I please. In autumn, my call is a loud, rhythmic drum, but who am I, where from do I come?
In the Arctic cold, I’m a dapper sight, with a black back and a belly so white. I fly over icy seas, with a grace so fine, but who am I, in this cold, cold clime?
With a long bill, curved, like a crescent moon, I probe in the mud, afternoon or noon. My plumage is mottled, blending in well, but who am I, can you tell?
I’m a bird of the fields, with a song so sweet, hopping around on my little feet. With a coat of brown and a speckled chest, but who am I, in the grass, at rest?
In the night sky, I’m a silent ghost, hunting for prey, I’m feared by most. My feathers are mottled, blending with the dark, but who am I, with a silent hark?
I’m a bird of prey, with a regal air, in the desert skies, I make my lair. With a sharp beak and talons to match, but who am I, what prey do I catch?
On rocky cliffs, I build my nest, with a call that’s more of a raucous jest. With a bright red bill and feet to match, but who am I, what eggs do I hatch?
In the urban sprawl, I’m a common sight, gray and unassuming, in flight or at night. I peck at the ground, for crumbs or seeds, but who am I, living in these city weeds?
I’m a tropical bird, with a beak so large, eating fruit is my main charge. With a body of black and a bill of bright hues, but who am I, with colors to muse?
In the wetlands, I dwell, with a distinctive call, in the early morning, over marshlands, I sprawl. With a long, curved neck and a slow, graceful flight, but who am I, in the dawn’s early light?
With a flash of red on my head so bright, I’m a common sight in a garden’s light. I peck at the seeds, with a chirp and a hop, but who am I, where do I stop?
I’m a bird of the night, with a face like a heart, in folklore, I’m wise, a nocturnal part. My call is a hoot, in the dark, I see fine, but who am I, in the nighttime pine?
With a brilliant splash of yellow and black, in North American woods, I’m not a lack. I sing a sweet song, from treetop high, but who am I, under the sky?