We Offer a Brief, Handy Guide To Odd Birds in Upper Branches (What kind of a manager are you?)

Bosses, like birds , come in a wide variety of colorful species, and learning how to identify yours can be instructive and fun. To assist you, I offer "A Field Guide to Bosses," with apologies to winged friends and special thanks to contributing boss-watchers.

By Jared Sandberg WSJ

Time-Wasting Sapsucker:

This boss mistakes activity for productivity. Can be seen pounding head against the wall like a woodpecker and encouraging others to do same. A stickler for punctuality, he’ll retaliate against latecomers with passive-aggressive scheduling. Can damage homes as well. Habitat: under your skin. Call: "I have a new project for you." Says one retired history professor: "No meaningful creative ability, poor social skills," but leaves a lot of droppings. Not to be confused with the Yellow-Bellied Fence Sitter, whose preferred habitat is uncertainty.

Winking-Eyed Rooster:

A morning person, this cocky strutter manages by fear. He picks on everyone but favors young and weak. Prone to sarcastic clapping. Diets on negatives, pointless rules and supercilious displays of power. Greets friends by fake-boxing. Habitat: the spotlight. Call: "Whodda Man?" "Very easy to spot," says software engineer Robert Czarnecki. "Just listen for shouting."

Pigeon-Toed Thrasher:

Common in all climes. Poor long-distance vision and weak sense of direction makes migration impossible. Flits from task to task. Multiple top priorities. Scatters e-mails when alarmed. Mimics every opinion to be right about something. Like other thrashers, "lots of commotion and precious little accomplishment," says ornithologist Charles Duncan. Habitat: thickets. Call: "I knew it!"

Really Red-Faced Cardinal:

Ferocious in defense of his place in the pecking order, this boss is so territorial he’ll attack his own reflection in windows. Still upset about something that happened decades ago. Prefers unthreatening cohorts and limits their contact with outsiders. Nostril flare and spitting distinguishes him from a Tanager (see below). Habitat: behind closed doors. Call: throaty, unpublishable exclamations.

Micro-Tanager:

Common control freak that circles the floor and hovers over desks. Has firm, stifling grip. Hoards credit for herself. "She can’t let go of things," says the professor. "She can’t believe that any of us are going to do the job the way it needs to be done." Misdirects others to keep everyone guessing. Habitat: other people’s business. Call: a clipped "I better do it."

Sharp-Tongued Grouse:

Grumbler; displays permanent disappointment. Beaten down by superiors and unimpressed with staffers. Feathers always ruffled. "Nothing is ever good enough," says one research librarian. Stays low to the ground and makes no secret about how he’d run the place, but is too chicken to tell it to bosses. Thinks he’s proved himself and shouldn’t have to work for advancement. Makes you write your own performance review but never submits it. Habitat: pharmacies and ledges. Call: a plaintive, whining moan.

Puff-Chested Nuthatch:

This boss is a nimble climber. Considered an excellent self-promoter who tells underlings to work hard so he can look good. Desperately tries to be chairman’s wing-man. Spends "all his time preening his personal image," says spotter Richard Clark. Distinguished from the similar Sharp-Elbowed Loon in that he’s not good with names or hallway chatter and is more self-forgiving. Blames lapses on his secretary and thinks she doesn’t know it. Habitat: the mirror on his office door. Call: overzealous laughter at CEO’s bad jokes, interspersed with a rhythmic "Absolutely."

Eleven-Fingered Vulture:

Loves to chew out people in public. Grabs prime office space from freshly fledged colleagues. Tiny head relative to his body. Tan and leathery, he winters in Boca time-share. "You wouldn’t want one as a pet," says Mr. Duncan. Habitat: racquetball courts. Call: "Not much of an athlete, are ya?"

Two-Faced Snipe:

This boss’s courtship ritual involves huge promises that are never kept. He will abandon any toady under his wing he suspects is disloyal or ascending. Shows charm but often backstabs and sets up others for failure. Prefers cover of dense brush to open fields. "Virtually no one is safe," says the research librarian, "from verbal lacerations." Eats off of other people’s plates. Habitat: mud. Call: a conspiratorial, "C’mere a minute …"

Once-Crested Bufflehead:

Walks like a boss, talks like a boss but is really a quack. Had a great idea once and won’t let you forget it. Coasts on his own hot air. Gathers periodicals for the men’s room. Lengthy pauses during his long tales make you think he’s a liar. Says one Los Angeles lawyer: "This boss has advanced as far as he will ever go." Habitat: threadbare laurels. Call: "Once, when I …"

Sage Dove:

Tame and approachable, this variety nods while walking. Bright, gregarious and a touch irreverent, solicits opinions from his flock. Commands respect from and for his direct reports. Defers to their expertise. Habitat: out on a limb for you. Call: a reassuring coo. "I’d try to seek out folks like him," says Howard Karten, who last spotted one 30 years ago. "Sadly, they’re few and far between — a true rara avis."

–E-mail me at [email protected].