There are all these new birds here – I counted over six pink-and-grey galahs yesterday, a multitude of blue wrens, some wild ducks, and more crows and magpies (which I took for granted before) than I have ever seen before. It’s becoming a wonderland of domesticated and wild birds living in relative harmony, and even our three dogs are okay with things. Now that is a small miracle!
The title of this post is not me trying to be profound; it’s me unable to find my camera – arghh………….
Long ago, when I was a nurse, I worked for several years at a hostel for multi-handicapped people, in Perth, Western Australia. Even though this job was initially extremely confronting due to the severity of the various disabilities suffered by the residents in this hostel, I loved working there. However, one of the most challenging situations was caring for those people who were ‘tactile defensive’, who didn’t like to be touched. Zac was one of those people. He was eight years old, blind, deaf, could only walk with assistance and (supposedly) ‘mentally retarded’. He spend most of the day rocking, groaning, gnawing his hands and headbanging and, yes, he hated to be touched. Feeding, bathing, dressing him, putting his protective helmet on and bandaging his hands, was not a job for the faint-hearted because he would lash out and scream despite our gentleness with him. I don’t think I have ever come across a person or situation more heartbreaking. His family never visited because I think they just found it too hard.
The description, ‘tactile defensive’ has never left me and, in terms of the birds, it is the peafowl who most remind me of Zac because, even though they are not disabled, they hate to be touched. I can pat all of ‘the gang’ (the chickens, ducks, geese and turkeys) but not the peacocks and peahens. The weird thing is that the peafowl will happily touch me – peck at my hands for bread, peck at my knees for bread, peck at my toes for bread – but if I reach out to pat them, they let out little yelps and back away.
I have a healthy respect for those who are ‘tactile defensive’, so when Queenie (our oldest female) stepped on my foot as I was distributing bread this morning, I patted her back without thinking and she let me! Mind you, it was only one quick pat and she stood back and looked at me quizzically, as if we had both entered a parallel universe!
Once, Zac, quieter than usual, reached out and touched my hand with his wounded fist. As usual, the bandages had come off. I held his bruised and bloodied hand in mine for around five seconds and he stopped rocking and raised his face to ‘look’ at me with his blind eyes. Every time I am able to pat a peacock, I will think of that moment with Zac.
I just found this ‘leftover’ photo in my files, ready to delete because it’s so blurry. It was taken ages ago before I knew that Phoenix 1 (golden pheasant) had ‘a thing for’ Malay (hen that looks like a rooster).
I have since done a bit of delving into whether pheasants and chickens can make a go of things and, apparently, yes they can but the eggs will be unfertilized. While I was doing this extraordinary googling, I also discovered that geese and ducks can also have relationships but, again, none of the eggs will be fertile.
So things are beginning to make more sense around here. The only problem now is that there are 9 eggs in the middle of one of Husband’s many shrubs and we don’t know whose eggs they are!
Okay, just in case you haven’t been following this blog for long, we now have exactly three turkeys (two of whom are called ‘Bubble’), and three emus (all of whom are called ‘Emery’). We had more of both breeds but have suffered some unforseen casualties, all of which are documented in previous posts. The only turkey who disrupts things now is our most recent addition to ‘the gang’, and we call her ‘Baby Turkey’ because two seconds ago she was tiny!
She is a real bully and scares the hell out of the poor emus when I’m taking them for a walk. I can’t believe Baby Turkey has transformed from a timid little chick into this Terminator character.
Yesterday I tried to insert this picture and accompanying article into my metaphor post because I thought it fitted well with that theme, but it ended up being too small, so here it is again. This picture is of my beautiful niece and her friend and the words are by my mother … read on
And who is the third girl you ask? My mother, of course, who has winged her way through widowhood, cancer, hearing loss and now an eye problem, with flying colours!
I have always loved the elusive notion of metaphor, and the way it dances and flits from one meaning to another, evading capture.
Okay, back down to ground level….
Unlike Woodroffe (always very grubby), our other Sebastopol goose, Diamond, keeps her multitude of feathers very clean. This is her, wondering if she should venture into a bath already used by Woody, Zaruma and the other members of ‘the gang’. I can definitely understand her reticence!
She’s pretty good at the navel-gazing thing too!
Angelina: How come she never uses us as metaphors? It’s always those filthy geese and ducks!
Brad: Angie, she does use us as metaphors – all the time!
Angelina: Yes but she gives them all the good cabbage and gives us the leftovers. I don’t get that!
Brad: Calm down, Angie – you are my own personal metaphor and always will be.
Angelina: Oh, really? Of what?
Brad: Of beauty, Angie, of beauty. Okay, now which branch do you want tonight – let’s have a snuggle.
…………
I have always loved the elusive notion of metaphor, and the way it dances and flits from one meaning to another, evading capture.
Today, Son and I had an argument interesting conversation:
Son: What is wrong with me? I don’t have energy – I HATE this! I’m sick of sleeping and wasting all this time!
Me: You had major surgery four weeks ago – it’s all normal. Every day you are getting better and your spine is healing. If you want to sleep, sleep and stop worrying about it.
Son: But I can’t stand it, Mum, and what about you – what’s wrong with you? Why are you so lazy and blah?
Me: It’s called lassitude.
Son: What the hell is that?
Me: It’s what we both have – this inability to get off our bums and move on; it’s my broken heart about Dad and….
Son: I’m sick of your broken heart.
Me: I’m sick of it too.
Son: And my spine isn’t straight anyway – it’s still crooked and I wanted to be perfect.
Me: Nobody’s spine is perfect and it’s a miracle of medical science that you have been straightened this much. Please stop this miserable whining.
Son: Then you stop crying!
Me: I’m just tired.
Son: So do we both have this lassitude thing?
Me: Yes, but it’ll pass.
Son: Mum, I love Dad too but I just can’t….
Me: I know.
Son: That’s a good word – lassitude – I’m going to remember that one.
Me: Yeah, and I’m going to lassoo it and take it to the dump.
Son: When?
Me: After I have a little nap….
Son: Okay, call me when you need a hand.
How come Woodroffe gets to do lassitude in peace?
This evening, Husband and I had an interesting conversation on the phone:
Me: He’s got lassitude-with-an-attitude now – argh!
Husband: Tell him to go easy on himself.
Me: What about going easy on me?
Husband: That too … are you okay?
Me: No, I miss you and I miss the way it was when….
Husband: Bring the brat in here tomorrow and I’ll straighten him out.
Me: Okay – good idea – brilliant idea!
Husband: ‘Night then – I’m watching a show on the ABC.
Me: Oh, okay – love you….
The lassitude is gone!
Tapper gravitates between the turkeys she was brought up with, the drakes and ganders who find her attractive, and lots and lots of alone time. She went missing over the last two days and I was worried but then, as I was putting the gang away tonight, she reappeared and flew willingly into a yard full of amorously- confused geese and one lone drake (Zaruma). Mmmm.
In case you haven’t noticed, I am a bit of a novice when it comes to the sexual antics of poultry and other birds and what I witnessed yesterday afternoon was a little disturbing to say the least. Zaruma started it, then Godfrey tried to fight Zaruma off then the shy Seli tried too. I was gobsmacked watching this and was on-the-ready to rescue Tapper, but she didn’t seem to mind, whereas I felt like I was watching one of those disturbing rite-of-passage movies.
Until 18 months ago I was a university lecturer living on a farm; now I am, as Husband puts it, with a twinkle in his eye, a farm girl – ha! As for Son, it’s probably best not to share his current definition of me (another ‘ha’).
I guess I just want things to go back in time – just a little bit.
Geese have a natural ability to hold their heads up high. You’ve all seen pictures of Godfrey doing this, but the younger ones are getting good at it too. Diamond, on the left, is getting particularly good at it, whereas Seli still doesn’t have it down to a fine art.
The following photo is of my wonderful, unusual, brilliant friend, Nathalie Collins who, amongst other things, has enhanced my neck-stretching abilities by showing me how to hold my head up high. She herself (not that I am comparing her to a goose!) has a very natural ability to do so which, before I met her, I lacked. You can find Nathalie here and it’s definitely worth a gander (sorry that is a really bad play on words but I couldn’t help myself!)
http://theinfinitegame.org/cv/
Nathalie got me into blogging in the first place and set me up with WordPress when I didn’t even really know what blogging was. In fact, I am such a technophobe that I only just discovered that, after all these months, I wasn’t even properly signed up to her own blog (this is quite embarrassing and I hope she will forgive me!)
This is what Nathalie had to say about the picture:
“These “angel wing” crystal earrings were purchased in the USA, but the fashion has since migrated south to Australia. Silver and gold feathers are “in” at the moment and were part of my outfit in the “wear a hat to work day” I recently experienced.
By the way, the hat was an original, Summer White House Press Hat from the Clinton Administration, given to me by a friend who covered the that president during his summer in Martha’s Vinyard. Now matter how the vote went no one else at work had a hat that cool
The hat that won the vote? A straw hat with peacock feathers! I was devastated.
The thing about the earrings is that they remind me of Julie…the bird bit mainly, but also the sparkly bit. In her own way, Julie is as bright and shiny (and cheerful) as the crystals in my earrings.”
Nathalie is my Diamond and I am her Seli. Some friendships are definitely worth feathering….
Phoenix 1, our remaining golden pheasant, is in search of a wife – yes indeed. This morning I was amazed to see him flirting with Malay (one of our roosters which might be a hen). Here is Malay in front of one of the old sheds. Malay is the grown up chick belonging to the first Malay who was one of the many hens to disappear courtesy of the fox. S/he is twice the size of Phoenix 1.
Originally we had four pheasants – two brothers from one farm and two sisters from another. All was well until one of the females died and the brothers fought over the remaining female and Phoenix 1 banished Phoenix 2 to one of the neighbouring properties (I wrote about this in my first post). Subsequently, and unfortunately, the other female was also killed by the fox so, in a matter of days, we went from four pheasants to one very lonely male.
When there were four of them, Phoenix 1 and Phoenix 2 spent the bulk of their time flirting with the female pheasants. It was relentless and hilarious. What they did was to flit very fast around the females, do a kind of hoppy dance and then enlarge the striped feathers around their necks, one side at a time – left, then right, then left and so on. It resembled the opening of an old-fashioned fan and I was never able to get a photo of this because they move too quickly. Needless to say, the females (a grey-brown colour) were just as fast in their attempts to escape this constant attention.
So here is another person’s photo of another pheasant doing the fan thing.
Well, I haven’t seen Phoenix 1 do this for months due to the absence of a female pheasant. So, this morning, as I was sitting on the back doorstep feeding bread to the peacocks, I heard the trilling noise that accompanies the pheasant flirting ritual and was amazed to see Phoenix 1 pursuing Malay, who was also amazed – and alarmed! The chase scenes were like something out of a Disney movie!
What next?
jmgoyder 