jmgoyder

wings and things

A call to arms

King: Enough is enough. Queen, where are you?

King: Darling, I really think we need to show that Godfrey gang that we were here first.

Queen: I completely agree, sweetie. Do you want me to call the kids?

King: Yes, please, and I think we should do it now.

Queen: Do you want me to do my special alarm squawk?

King: Oh, Queenie, that would be marvelous!

Peacock 1: Did you hear that?

Peacock 2: Yes, it’s the Queen calling us on the King’s behalf.

Peacock 1: Why doesn’t he call us himself? I know she adopted us but I can’t stand her; she is so bossy.

Peacock 2: Oh, get over yourself and get up. The King needs us!

Guinnea fowl 1: What’s going on? Which side are we on?

Guinnea fowl 2,3,4,5,6: I think we should stick with the peacocks.

White peacock: Come on, you guys – we have to support King against Godfrey – hurry up!

Other peacocks: Since when did Whitey become so full of himself?

White peacock: I will choose to ignore that comment in light of this situation. This is war, you morons!

Adolescent peacock 1: Do you think we can avoid this if we just stay here?

Adolescent peacock 2: Good idea!

Godfrey: Are you all ready?

The gang: Ready and waiting, sir.

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The pile of feathers

On Christmas Eve evening I went out as usual to put the gang away and, once that was done, I went to sit down at my picnic table close to their yards to wait for the peacocks to ascend into the trees.

But my heart galloped to an abrupt halt when I saw, just beside the picnic table, a pile of feathers – King peacock’s tail feathers – about 20 or so. A feeling of grief overwhelmed me because I assumed that the fox had killed him, so I sat down and sobbed inconsolably until, a few moments later, Son bounded out of the house to see where I was. My sobs were rather loud, so he found me quite easily and proceeded to laugh hysterically when I gasped, “King is dead.”

“Mum, you idiot,” Son said, sitting next to me and putting his arm around my heaving shoulders. “He’s fine – see – he’s right there!” He pointed and, through my tear-engorged eyes I saw King strutting across the lawn towards me, looking a little less regal than usual.

I stopped crying with sorrow and started crying with relief. “King!” I called and he came closer.

“He must be molting, Mum. I just collected all his feathers this afternoon and put them in a pile for you,” Son said gently, still chuckling.

I dried my eyes on my shirt. “Would you mind not calling me an idiot?” I said.

“I’ll consider it,” he said.

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The Christmas surprise

Oh, I was so excited! A few days ago, Son said I wasn’t to go anywhere near the greenhouse because there was a Christmas surprise in there for me. Now I realise that greenhouses are usually for growing plants, but so far we had only ever used it for growing little birds into adolescents before letting them free range. Nothing remotely leafy had been produced in there.

It’s not that I haven’t tried – gardening I mean. After all, that’s why I got the greenhouse in the first place – to grow tomatoes for us and lettuces for the birds. But the sad fact is that, despite good intentions, I have absolutely no talent for gardening, and I actually loathe anything to do with spades, pots, soil and watering cans. I desperately want to overcome this gardening aversion though, so I have put it on my list of New Year’s resolutions for 2020.

During the days leading up to Christmas I noticed Son going in and out of the greenhouse twice a day. I wondered what kind of bird it was and it took immense willpower to stop myself from having a peek. Would it be a baby galah? Maybe it would be another weiro. Perhaps it was some ducklings. Or possibly it was something more exotic like a swan or a pelican or even a rare breed of bird I’d never heard of.

Finally, Christmas morning arrived and after opening his pillowcase presents, and exchanging our under-the-tree presents, Son took my hand and said, “Now, for your surprise.” I said to Husband, “Do you know what it is?” and he nodded knowingly. So we went out to the greenhouse and Son told me to close my eyes while he opened the door, then he said, “Okay, Mum, you can open your eyes. Happy Christmas!”

I opened my eyes and it was almost too much for me. There, carefully arranged on a trestle were about 30 little plants in pots – tomatoes, cucumbers, lettuces, eggplants, and more. I tried to rearrange the horror shock on my face into happy shock for Son’s benefit and I must have succeeded because he hugged me and said, “I thought you’d be amazed.”

I guess I’ll have to bring that New Year’s resolution forward a bit!

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Not for Christmas lunch!

Ever since we began accumulating birds, specifically poultry, friends and family have joked about us having a very handy source of food. Recently, one friend even had the affrontery to suggest that they would all be suitable for Christmas lunch, so I had to become rather stern with her.

“None of these birds are food,” I said, picking Zaruma (a duck) up and stroking his substantial chest. We were sitting opposite each other, outside at one of the picnic tables. “They’re our friends.”

As if to confirm this, one of the Bubbles (a turkey) flew up onto the table and nuzzled me.

“Oh,” she said, “I just thought with so many….”

I noticed that Godfrey (a gander) was approaching her from behind, poised to bite her bum. After all she was sitting where I usually sit and that’s where he sometimes catches me off guard.

I couldn’t help thinking how a little nip from Godfrey might teach my friend a lesson, after her tactless remark. She didn’t hear his warning hiss because we were surrounded by chickens, ducks, geese, turkeys and peacocks, all squawking and squabbling for bread, lettuce, cabbage and my attention.

“Anyway,” I said to her pointedly, as Godfrey got closer. “They’re all such gentle creatures.” And, whammo, right on cue, Godfrey lunged in and bit her on her subtantial posterior. Well, she leapt up with a shriek of horror, whirled around then shrieked even louder to see Godfrey’s hissing, angry face.

“Why didn’t you warn me?” she yelled, backing away from Godfrey, terrified.

“My goodness, I didn’t see that coming!” I said, feigning innocence. I was trying really hard to keep a straight face but I just couldn’t and broke into laughter. “I guess it’s just that he doesn’t particularly like hearing about the idea of being eaten.”

Unfortunately, my friend and I are no longer quite as close as we used to be.

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Fog and Kabuterimon

Okay, a bit of context here for those of you who aren’t familiar with the Pokemon + Digimon phenomenon that swept (and continues to sweep) the world. No, it’s too huge a topic so please simply google if you’re interested. In the meantime here is a picture of Kabuterimon.

Kabuterimon was one of Son’s all-time favourites, when he was younger – and I remember learning (via Son’s careful tuition) what skills, attributes and possible/improbable failings this creature had. Obviously, Kabuterimon’s wings saved him from many frightening attacks, but this following experience with him will stay with me forever.

Son and I were in the car, coming home from leaving Husband in hospital to have his kidney removed for cancer.

Son (4 years old): What’s wrong with Daddy?

Me: He’s sick.

Son: What’s the matter with the road?

Me: It’s just fog.

Son: What’s fog?

Me: Mist.

Son: Mum, what’s mist?

Me: Magic.

Son: Will Kabuterimon come and help us?

Me: Yes.

Son: Will Kabuterimon be at home?

Me: Yes.

Note: By this time we were driving up our driveway, so were very nearly home, but the fog was incredibly thick and Son was scared of it. I was scared too but not about the fog. As soon as I parked the car, Son leapt out into the fog with no fear at all. I didn’t get it to begin with.

Son: MUMMY, he’s here – Kabuterimon is here – HE’S HERE!!

Me: Where?

Son: Right here in the fog, you silly. That’s what he does – he GIZES [disguises] himself to TWECT (protect] us – you, me and Daddy.

Me: Okay.

Wearily, I took his little hand and entered the house via the back veranda but only after giving a nod of thanks to Kabutermimon who stood, huge, under the fig trees.

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Do birds smile?

Do birds have facial expressions? I’m not sure, although many bird photographers (some of whom are my favourite bloggers), capture pictures of birds looking scared or angry or surprised – even happy – but I think might be skilled photography, not the bird actually shifting its features around to express any emotion.

Again, I’m not sure.

For me, it’s this lack of facial expression that makes it difficult to ‘read’ birds. Here are some examples:

Godfrey (the gander who likes to bite me) has the same arrogant expression on his face, regardless of whether he is defending his ‘brood’, tripping over his big feet or chasing me.

The Bubbles (our turkeys) have permanently ferocious expressions even when they are giving me their equivalent of a hug, which is sort of like wing-in-your-face+beak-in-your-neck gesture.

Zaruma and Tapper (the Muscovy ducks) always look innocent and befuddled, despite their canniness.

All of the geese look sweet and needy, even when they are fighting over food.

The emus look inquisitive and intellectual, even though one of them can’t tell the difference between a camera and a cabbage.

King and the rest of the peacocks always look a tiny bit disgruntled even though they are obviously ecstatically happy here.

Okay, so many of these bird expressions seem to contradict the reality of the situation, and I have started to take a better ‘look’ at their eyes because I think this may be the key to ‘reading’ them better.

Husband’s Parkinson’s has affected the muscles in his face, so much so that he is unable to smile properly, even when he’s happy, like now – happy to be home. I never realised, until today, how much, how much, how much I miss his huge, boisterous smile.

But the birds have taught me this: smiling isn’t everything!

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The trumpeting of angels – or not

Peacocks make a variety of very loud noises and I mean VERY LOUD. Some say that these are amongst the most annoying noises in the world. I was warned about this by the people who sold us our first peacocks, but it was several weeks before any of them made the slightest sound so the first time I heard it, I got a terrible fright because it sounded like a woman screaming – no, not screaming, SHRIEKING. Okay, so that’s one sound. Another one is this trumpeting sound – quite haunting and, to my ears, pleasant, although when they all do it together I am very glad we don’t have close neighbours because it sounds a bit like an orchestra tuning up – ie. a bit disharmonious!

Anyway, these noises fill the air for much of the day, on and off, but the three of us are so used to it now that we don’t even notice. So it’s fantastic fun to see the expression of alarm on visitors’ faces when the peacocks do the shrieking thing. “What the hell was that?” they exclaim.

It’s probably the squawking noise (see/hear youtube below) that most irritates people because it’s such an angry sound, but we don’t hear that too often thank goodness.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s_DJNG-lxbk

My favourite of their sounds is this soft click-clicking that issues from their throats when I feed them bread or other treats. It’s almost if they are saying ‘thank you’.

Husband will be elated to come back to this trumpeting of angels (I think!)

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Is it a bird…? No, it’s my own personal super-hero

Finally, tomorrow, Husband is getting out of hospital and Son and I are elated (even though we still haven’t put the Christmas tree up – argh!)

The following pictures are a random sample that represent, for me, the idea of home which is, quite simply, us.

I cannot wait to have my hero home!

 

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Annie get your gun

That fox and I are going to do battle.

We have tried fox traps, lights and numerous other fox deterrents, including the introduction of two beautiful Alpacas (because I was told they keep foxes away), and we have built up the night-time yards so they are too high for a fox to climb in. So far, these yards have kept that fox out during nights, but it has become so brazen that, as you know from previous posts, it somehow got our first three free-ranging emus in broad daylight.

So, I am going to get a gun, learn to shoot and get my gun licence. Now, for those of you who find this disturbing, it’s important that you know that the fox is not natural to Australia; it was introduced in the mid 1800s for recreational hunting purposes and, fast forward to now, it has become a murderous pest. Foxes not only kill domestic birds, like ours, they kill a lot of the wildlife too.

I think the presence of the Alpacas has helped but they are such gentle animals I can’t imagine them killing anything!

Son named them Okami and Uluru. ‘Okami’ is, apparently, the Japanese word for a great spirit, god or wolf, and ‘Uluru’ is the Aboriginal term for what used to be called ‘Ayer’s rock’. So they have really powerful names, but their soft natures seem to contradict their reputation for being able to stomp on the fox problem.

So, what do you think about my getting-a-gun idea? I don’t see that I have any other choice. Obviously, as an animal lover, I empathise with this fox’s need to feed her cubs wherever they are but sometimes enough is enough!

That fox and I are going to do battle.

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Welcome home!

Last time Husband was in hospital in Perth, a visitor came in with three Irish terrier pups and Husband fell in love with them. So, after he got home I made some enquiries and found him a puppy, Jack, and Son and I surprised Husband. My mother was kind enough to go and get Jack from Perth and bring him home to us, so when she arrived we told Husband to close his eyes and I put Jack into his arms – well, kind of. Even at 4 months of age, Jack was a lot bigger than our miniature dachshunds, Doc and Blaze!

As you can see, Husband and Jack bonded immediately and they have a wonderful friendship. Unlike Doc and Blaze who are ‘outside/inside dogs’ ie. they are mostly outside but can come inside too, Jack is more of an ‘inside/outside’ dog, so he spends a lot of time at Husband’s feet in the living room and stretches out on the bedroom floor if Husband is having a rest.

On the phone to Husband yesterday, he said, “You haven’t bought any more birds, have you?”

“No,” I said, truthfully.

“Or dogs?”

“No.”

“Okay, then,” he said with a relieved sigh.

I didn’t tell him about the galah I’ve ordered. Husband has always loved galahs!

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